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CHINESE 
CENTRAL ASIA 


C. P. ‘SKRINE 


INDIAN CIVIL SERVICE, BRITISH CONSUL-GENERAL IN 
CHINESE TURKISTAN 1922-1924 


WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 


SIR FRANCIS YOUNGHUSBAND 
K.GS.1. 


WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN COLOUR 
5 PANORAMAS AND 2 MAPS 


51 OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS 





BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
1926 


PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN 


To 
MY WIFE 
WHOSE HELP AND COMPANIONSHIP 
MADE ME ENJOY ALL 
THESE WANDERINGS 





PREFACE 


r NHIS book is an account, compiled during a spell of 
home leave, of a very happy two and a half years 
spent by my wife and myself partly at Kashgar, 

partly on the road in Northern Kashmir and Chinese Turkistan. 
I did not seriously entertain the idea of writing a book about 
our experiences until three or four months before we left 
Kashgar; consequently, most of the letters and desultory 
notes on which I have relied for my material have had to be 
edited from memory far from the scenes described. The 
book does not in any sense, therefore, purport to be a 
treatise on the countries described. I have, however, 
thought it worth while to devote two or three chapters 
to such ethnological and other observations as my study of 
the Eastern Turki language and the experience gained in the 
course of my official duties suggested. It is hoped that the 
result of my amateur efforts will at any rate indicate the 
variety and interest of the different fields open to the student 
of man and Nature in Chinese Central Asia. 

As a travel-book, on the other hand, I fear this work 
will be considered old-fashioned. Neither aeroplane, nor 
caterpillar-wheeled car, nor cinema, nor wireless, nor oxygen 
apparatus, nor any of the other adjuncts of up-to-date travel 
figure in its pages: The fact simply is that my wife and I, 
being confirmed nomads with a strong distaste for the beaten 
track, welcomed my appointment as Consul-General at Kashgar 
as a Heaven-sent opportunity for the gratification of our 
tastes ; and for the benefit of the many who share those tastes 
I have tried to give a matter-of-fact account of the experiences 
and impressions of two average Britons wandering among the 
highlands and lowlands of ‘‘ Innermost Asia.’’ Though it has 
sometimes been difficult to maintain a due sense of proportion 
among scenes beautiful and rare, I have tried throughout to 
eschew exaggeration ; and in particular I have done my best 
to avoid the trap into which so many travel-writers fall—over- 

vil 


vil CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


emphasis of such difficulties and dangers as they may have 
experienced. The reader will find few of the “ adventures ” 
(most of which could probably, if the truth were known, have 
been avoided with a little more care and foresight) that loom 
so large in many popular accounts of travel. 

My thanks are due to the Royal Geographical Society for 
permission to reproduce, with certain additions, the excellent 
map prepared by them to illustrate Sir Aurel Stein’s paper 
on ‘“‘ Innermost Asia: its Geography as a factor in History,”’ 
published in the “‘ Geographical Journal ’’ for May and June 
1925. Ihave also to thank the Society for their great encour- 
agement and help in connection with the photographs which 
illustrate this book. 

In the collection of material for chapters XII and XIII, I 
was loyally assisted by my friend Murad Qari of Yarkand, 
who also helped me with the transcription and translation of 
most of the Turki songs, proverbs and popular sayings quoted. 
I would also like to acknowledge a debt of gratitude to my 
father, Mr. Francis H. Skrine, for many useful hints and for 
an invaluable final correction of the proofs. 

With the exception of the plate representing certain Takla 
Makan antiques, for which I am indebted to the British 
Museum, the photographs were all taken and developed by me 
in camp or at Kashgar. For the benefit of those interested 
in the subject I have appended a note on photography in 
Central Asia at the end of the book. The frontispiece is a 
reproduction of a sketch made by my wife at Yambulak on 
our journey to Kashgar in 1922. 

C. P. SKRINE 

THE BATH CLUB 

1st July, 1926 


CHAP, 


Vill 


XVII 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION . 

To THE OUTPOSTS ; : : : 

In THE HEART OF THE KARAKORAM . : 
OVER THE GREAT DIVIDE . 

THE MouNTAIN Roap To CATHAY 

KASHGAR . 

A CENTRAL ASIAN ARCADY 

THE FINDING OF THE Happy VALLEY 
YARKAND, KHOTAN AND BEYOND 

DESERT, RIVER AND MOUNTAIN . 

A MuRDER CASE AND A DIFFICULT JOURNEY 
THE PEOPLE OF THE HAPPY VALLEY . 
ARCHZOLOGY, ART, LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 
Customs, Music, PoETRY AND FOLKLORE 
AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 

UNDER THE NORTHERN RIM OF TIBET 
ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 

BACK TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 
APPENDIX . 


INDEX A r ; . é : ‘ 


ix 


105 
121 
137 
153 
167 
193 
218 
244 
261 
278 
297 


301 





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


A Kircuiz BRIDE, CHINESE PAMIRS Frontispiece (in colour) 
RAKAPOSHI FROM NORTH SIDE OF HUNZA VALLEY , 


How WE CROSSED THE ASTORE RIVER AT RAMGHAT 


° . 


A RAFIQ oR CLIFF TRACK IN THE HuNzA GORGES. 


BALTIT 4 : 4 : 


CASTLE OF THE Mirs oF HunzA, BALTIT 


IN THE HunzA GORGES BETWEEN ATA’ABAD AND GALMIT 


NANGA PARBAT FROM Bunji, INDUS VALLEY 


BEFORE CROSSING THE MINTAKA PASS 


e » ° . . 


CROSSING THE YANGI DAVAN 


UNMAPPED LAKE AT HEAD OF YAMBULAK VALLEY 


THE WALLS OF OLD KASHGAR 


BRITISH CONSULATE-GENERAL FROM NORTH BANK OF TUMEN SU 


EVENING ON THE TUMEN SU ABOVE KASHGAR 


KASHGAR ON BAzAR DAY ‘ 


THE Happy VALLEY , , 


STARTING ON THE MARCH IN THE KAYING VALLEY, OCTOBER, 1922 
IN THE GLACIER “ CIRQUE ’”’ OF THE UPPER KAYING JILGHA 


‘* FOLDED ” LIMESTONE STRATA, KAYING JILGHA 


IN THE SHRINE OF HAZRAT PIR, YARKAND 


PANORAMA FROM NEAR CHAT, UPPER QARATASH 


TELEPANORAMA OF KASHGAR RANGE . 
Xl 


FACING 
PAGE 


100 
100 
108 
116 


116 


xii CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


DEBTOR WEARING CANGUE, MAGISTRATE’S YAMEN, KARGHALIK 
DULANI WOMAN WITH SIcK LAMB, MERKET . : : : 
KIRGHIZ CALLERS, Q1zIL TAGH REGION . ‘ : ° e 
A KirGcHiz WEDDING BREAKFAST, UPPER QARATASH VALLEY . 
KASHGARI CHILDREN IN GALA ATTIRE . : E : : 
DISPENSING MEDICINE TO THE KIRGHIZ, CHOPKANA JILGHA . 


A KIRGHIZ BRIDGE BUILT ON THE CANTILEVER PRINCIPLE, KHAN- 
TEREK e e e e e e . e e e 


Peaks J, IIIA Aanp III oF SHIWAKTE GROUP : ; ‘ 
SUMMER AT KAYING BASHI . : * . : 
PEAK I oF SHIWAKTE GROUP : ‘ é : : 


PLASTER HEAD OF WOMAN FOUND UNDER SANDS OF TAKLA 
MAKAN DESERT NEAR KHOTAN c ‘ ; “ A 


SOAPSTONE FIGURE OF SARASWATI AND HER PEACOCK FOUND 
AT YOTKAN ., t sb A = . i : 


A PROFESSIONAL BEGGAR, OLD Agsu . : 5 é ’ 


A GAME OF CAT’S CRADLE; DULANI CHILDREN, MARALBASHI 
DISTRICT : % ; : ; ’ ‘ : 


A DESERT LAKE (THE CHOLL KuL, MARALBASHI DISTRICT) . 
THE WALLS OF KHOTAN ‘ ‘ ; ; ’ . ; 
A STORY-TELLER AND HIS AUDIENCE, KARGHALIK , . * 
IN THE YANGI ART JILGHA, TIEN SHAN MOUNTAINS : ° 
SHEEP-FARM OF YETIM DOBE, CENTRAL TIEN SHAN ; 
A KirGuiz BEG OF THE TIEN SHAN, WITH HIS HUNTING EAGLE 
THE City OF THE DEAD, OLD Agsu : ; J AL : 
An Agsu SMALL-HOLDER’S MELON-CROP : : : ; 
KASHGARI FISHERMEN AT WORK IN A CANAL. : ; : 
Our CARTS STARTING OUT FROM A CHINESE REst-HovusE 4 
TELEPANORAMA OF KUNLUN MOUNTAINS 4 é ‘ : 
TELEPANORAMA OF TIEN SHAN PEAKS . 4 “ : ; 


PANORAMA OF QUNGUR MaAssiF, SHIWAKTE GROUP AND PEAKS 
OF KAYING VALLEY : , : , , . . 


FACING 
PAGE 


124 
124 
132 
132 
138 
146 


146 
150 
158 
164 


170 


170 


184 


184 
192 
204 
204 
218 
226 


232 


258 


CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA Xill 


FACING 
PAGE 


MUHAMMADAN GUESTS, AT PRAYER IN THE GARDEN OF THE 
CONSULATE-GENERAL, KING’S BIRTHDAY RECEPTION, 1924 262 


THE LATE GENERAL MA, TITAI OF KASHGARIA . : Pate Le 
THE KEPEK PASS : : ; ; : ° : Mee ty F- 
AN AWKWARD STEP ON THE DESCENT OF THE KEPEK PASS . 272 
Ag TasH GLACIER AND PEAK III OF THE SHIWAKTE GROUP . 276 
Foot OF COMBINED OI TAGH AND Bux UsH GLACIERS . Piao tie 
LooKING UP NAGAR VALLEY TO HISPAR ; : q i 22 
MAPS 
PamMirs QuNGUR MASSIF : : . . Front Endpaper 


CHINESE TURKISTAN AND ADJACENT TERRITORIES , : - 290 





INTRODUCTION 


HE “‘ unchanging East ”’ is, of course, a fiction. The 

East does change, and change very remarkably, as 

we can see from this book. When a high Chinese 

official receiving a British Consul-General can wear a bowler 

hat, and relieving himself of it transfer it to an attendant wear- 

ing a Homburg hat, who thereupon places the bowler on the 

top of the Homburg on the top of his head, things must have 

changed indeed from the time when every Chinese official on 

every official occasion wore a pork-pie hat and feather and kept 
it firmly on his own head. 

Other changes too one notes in this book. Thirty-nine years 
ago, when I first visited Chinese Turkistan, the Russian Consul- 
General was in a dominant position and there was not asingle 
Englishman resident in the country. During the period with 
which this book deals (1922-4) the Russian Consulate no longer 
exists, and it is the British Consul-General who is the most 
influential European in Kashgaria. 

Still, if the East does change, there can hardly be a part of 
it which changes less than Chinese Turkistan. On three sides 
it is hemmed in by lofty mountains, including the Himalaya, 
the Roof of the World, and the Heavenly Mountains. And on 
the fourth it is bounded by a great desert. Tibet itself is hardly 
less secluded. And, therefore, we can still see there now most 
of what the East was. The Chinese may have taken to wearing 
European clothes, but the skin under the clothes remains of 
much the same colour. From Mr. Skrine’s account of the 
officials, including the General, they appear to be both as polite 
and cultured and composed, and also as arrogant and at times 
cruel towards the people, as they always have been in Turkistan. 
And the change in the amount of influence respectively exerted 
by the Russians and British does not particularly affect the 
Turki inhabitants. They seem to remain pretty much the 
same as they have been for centuries ; and Chinese Turkistan 


XV 


Xvi CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


is a blessed country without a single railway or even a metalled 
road. 

Here then is a country worth taking some trouble to describe. 
You do not need a snap-shot camera: the object is sufficiently 
stationary for you to give it a time exposure. And Mr. Skrine 
has taken advantage of his opportunity. Not everyone— 
especially not every married man—would care to exile himself 
for two and a half years to so distant a post. But Mr. Skrine 
seized the chance with enthusiasm and worked assiduously all 
the time—observing like a bird all that went on around him and 
recording what he saw with the indefatigability of a typing 
machine. 

And he was incessantly on the move touring the country. 
What with the Russian, French, Swedish and British travellers 
who have explored the western end of Chinese Central Asia one 
would have supposed that there was not a nook or corner which 
had not been visited. Yet Mr. Skrine discovered what must be 
about the most delightful spot in the whole country—the 
Happy Valley lying under the very eaves of the Roof of the 
World. 

His description of this valley and of other parts which he 
visited, and of the people, their art, their folk-lore and their 
customs, and his photographs—all these together make Mr. 
Skrine’s book a valuable and welcome addition to Central 
Asian literature. 


FRANCIS YOUNGHUSBAND 


CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


CHAPTER I 


TO THE OUTPOSTS 


T was on a frosty eveningin the November of 1921, in the 
| cosy precincts of the Quetta Club bar, that Fate vouch- 

safed its first hint of the pleasant Odyssey that was in 
store for my wife and myself. A certain senior colleague of 
mine in the Foreign and Political Department, who happened 
to be in Quetta on duty at the time, drew me aside and made 
the following electrifying proposition : 

‘““ Some time ago I agreed to go to Kashgar next summer and 
officiate for a year as Consul-General in place of E. who is 
going on leave. Now, for domestic reasons, I don’t want to 
go. Would you like me to suggest you to Government as a 
substitute ? ”’ 

It took me an appreciable time to grasp the full significance 
of this proposal. Then I said: 

“Why, I’d start to-morrow if I had the chance. But I 
am far too junior and there’s not the least prospect of their 
giving me the job.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” said the Colonel, “‘ it’s only for a year,} 
and there won’t be much competition. Anyhow, I may suggest 
your name to them at Delhi? ”’ 

“Most certainly you may!” | 

D. (my wife) and I were touring six weeks later in that 
remote and little-known district of East Persia, the Sarhad, 
when the telegram came which informed me that I had been 
appointed to officiate as British Consul-General in Chinese 
Turkistan. A picturesque Baluch scallywag of the Sarhad 
Levies brought it, twisted up in a grimy section of his volumi- 
nous clothing, from Khwash, 60 miles away, the westernmost 
station of all the far-flung Indian telegraph system. To use a 

1 This period was subsequently extended, 
1 1 


2 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


trite phrase, the news seemed too good to be true. Four years 
before, at Kerman in south-east Persia, Sir Percy Sykes (then 
Inspector-General of the South Persia Rifles) had spoken to 
me in glowing terms of the ‘‘ Kashgar job,’”’ and I had sworn 
a vow that some day, later in my service perhaps when I should 
be full of years if not of honour, it should be mine. And now, 
after only four years, I was to go! The only question was, 
would D. be able to come with me? Forthwith I set the wires 
humming, and three anxious weeks, during which D. hardly 
slept for fear lest she should be left behind, passed before the 
necessary permission was received from Government. I had 
little anxiety on the score of her ability to stand the fatigues 
and hardships (if any) of the journey, for in the course of two 
long tours in the Sarhad she had had a good taste of desert 
travelling, and wanted more. Besides, I knew by experience 
how straight are made the paths of the British traveller on the 
frontier or beyond ; had I not myself helped to make straight 
the paths of others in a like case ? 

There was no need for haste. The Kashmir passes would 
not be officially “‘open’’ for another four or five months. 
For it must be understood that the route by which Kashgar 
had been most easily accessible before the Russian Revolu- 
tion, that is to say by rail from Russia to Andijan on the 
Transcaspian Railway and thence twelve marches by pony 
caravan across the Tien Shan, was no longer open. Thanks to 
the chaotic state of Transcaspia since the Revolution and the 
consequent closing of the Russian frontier of Chinese Turkistan, 
a comparatively easy journey to our destination with a free 
trip Home thrown in was denied us. The only practicable 
alternative was to go by rail and road to Srinagar and thence, 
in June when the passes opened, to ride and walk for seven 
weeks across the wide mountain belt which separates the Vale 
of Kashmir from the plains of Chinese Turkistan. There was 
plenty of time, therefore, to make our preparations and indulge 
in the delights of anticipation. 

The end of April saw us jogging up the Jhelum valley to 
the Kashmir capital. Most travellers to Kashmir, being in a 
hurry, dash up the 1go-mile road in two days by car. Wecould 
afford to take six days and taste the full savour of our first 
trip to the famous Valley, so we went by “ tonga”’ or pony- 
cart. D. and I with our rolls of bedding and hand-luggage 
(our heavy boxes had gone ahead by motor-lorry) occupied 
one tonga, while on the other came, perched on mountains of 


TO THE OUTPOSTS 3 


their own baggage and some of ours, our faithful little butler- 
valet Ahmad Bakhsh and D.’s even smaller “ ayah,” a delight- 
ful old Bombay duenna called Malamma. The ayah came 
no further than Srinagar, for the passes would certainly have 
killed her, but Ahmad Bakhsh figures throughout this nar- 
rative and deserves a proper introduction. A dapper, cheerful, 
energetic, efficient little native of Amroha in the United 
Provinces, where the best servants come from, “‘ A.B.,’’ as we 
always called him, entered our service at Delhi in December 
1920 when we were on our way to set up house in Baluchistan. 
Since then he had accompanied us loyally and cheerfully in 
all our wanderings and now, marvellous to relate, had 
volunteered to come with us to Kashgar. What this means 
will be appreciated by anyone who has tried, as I had more 
than once, to induce his best servants to accompany him on 
service out of India. Let me say here and now that A.B. not 
only went with us to Kashgar but stayed there for two years 
and came back with us, and that he was an unqualified success 
both as “camp khidmatgar ”’ on the road and as head butler 
at the Consulate-General, where he ruled his Turkisubordinates 
with a rod of iron. 

Arrived in Srinagar, we found that it would be a month or 
more before we could expect to start on our long trek across 
the mountains. Thanks to the beauty of Nature in the 
Kashmir Valley in spring and to the kindness and hospitality 
of friends new and old, the time passed only too quickly. 
At first we were the guests of the First Assistant to the 
Resident in Kashmir, Mr. Lothian, and his charming wife ; 
afterwards we collected a local cook and one or two other 
servants and set up house for ourselves in some unoccupied 
clerks’ quarters lent us by the Resident. Then began in earnest 
the task of equipping ourselves and making arrangements for 
our long journey. 

Before going further I must explain the situation as regards 
the ‘roads’ which connect India with Chinese Turkistan. 
At their best, i.e. most of the way up to the furthest British 
outposts, they are well-engineered pack-transport roads, 
from three to six feet wide, made and maintained by the 
Indian Public Works Department. Once the level floor of 
the Jhelum Valley is left there is no question of wheeled 
transport of any kind; it would cost millions to construct 
a motor-road even as far as Gilgit or Leh. Beyond the out- 
posts the “‘road’”’ degenerates rapidly into a stony caravan 


4 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


track winding up the gorges and along the precipitous moun- 
tain-faces of the Karakoram until the Great Divide is reached. 

There are few alternatives even among these exiguous paths. 
The tremendous barrier formed by the Hindu Kush and the 
Karakoram can only be pierced at three points, that is to say 
by the Chitral, Leh and Gilgit routes respectively. For 
reasons into which I need not enter, the first of these is not 
practicable for the ordinary traveller. The second, which 
goes from Srinagar to Leh and thence across the Karakoram 
to Yarkand, is the route most generally used. It is, I believe, 
by far the highest and most difficult trade-route in the world, 
not even excepting those across the Andes. Ever since the 
famous Forsyth Mission of 1873-4, which bore a letter and 
presents from Queen Victoria herself to the “‘ Amir’”’ Yakub 
Beg Bedaulat of Kashgar, it has been our policy to foster 
the trade between India and Chinese Turkistan. Until 1891, 
however, the Leh caravans used frequently to be looted by 
the men of Hunza and Nagar, and it is only since that year, 
when those tough httle mountain principalities were brought 
to heel by Colonel Durand’s column,} that the Leh road has 
been safe and regularly used by traders. The Kashmir State 
takes great interest in this ‘‘ road,” and it is carefully organized. 
The pack-transport road from Srinagar over the Zoji La Pass 
to Leh, the capital of Ladakh or “ Little Tibet,” is kept in 
excellent repair. An official known as the “ British Joint 
Commissioner in Ladakh ”’ looks after the interests of traders 
at Leh and Srinagar ; stores of State grain are kept at various 
points along the Yarkand road for sale to caravans at fixed 
rates, and trade encouraged in many other ways. None the 
less, in spite of the facilities described above, the obstacles 
which the Indo-Central Asian trade has to surmount are so 
great that it is nothing less than marvellous that the route 
can be profitably used at all. First, there is the notorious 
Zoji La Pass near Srinagar with its blizzards and avalanches. 
Then between Leh and Yarkand five passes over 16,000 feet 
high have to be crossed, of which three are difficult and even 
dangerous, though the highest of them all, the Karakoram - 
(18,550 feet), is easy. On thissection, for fourteen consecutive 
marches all food-supplies for man and beast have to be carried 
by the caravans. Innumerable mountain torrents and not a 
few large rivers swollen with melting snows have to be forded. 


+See the late Mr. E. F. Knight’s ‘“‘ Where Three Empires Meet’? 
for a graphic description of this campaign. 


TO THE OUTPOSTS 5 


The carriers, most of whom are Turki landowners of the 
Karghalik and Goma districts, lose scores of ponies every 
season owing to the rarefaction of the air on the high passes, 
to shortage of food and to accidents by flood, blizzard, glacier 
and precipice. Nevertheless year after year the caravans toil 
to and fro, carrying to Yarkand the products of Manchester 
looms and Bradford woollen mills, British and German dye- 
stuffs, tea and brocades from India, spices and sugar from Java ; 
while in return come felts and hemp-drug (the hashish of 
Arabia), silks and carpets from Khotan and a substantial 
balance in gold dust and silver to fill the gaily-painted coffers 
of fat bunnias in Amritsar and Hoshiarpur. 

Most of the European explorers, sportsmen, missionaries 
and others who have visited Central Asia from India have 
travelled by this route, and we might have followed in their 
steps. But I was more fortunate than they, for I was travel- 
ling to Kashgar on duty, and a shorter and less arduous, yet 
even more interesting, route was open to me. This was the 
last of the three mentioned above, that via Gilgit, the Mintaka 
Pass and the Chinese Pamirs. For several reasons this route 
is not practicable for trade or other regular traffic. For one 
thing, the gorge of the Hunza River between Baltit and Misgar 
(six marches) is in many places quite impossible for loaded 
ponies, and all baggage has to be carried in fifty-pound loads 
from village to village on the backs of the few porters available. 
For another, up to 1891, as we have seen, the brawny lads of 
Hunza and Nagar added considerably to their incomes by 
raiding the caravans on the Lehroute ; and though we console 
them in various ways for the loss of this source of wealth, 
and though they have been as good as gold for the last thirty 
years, it would perhaps be trying them too highly to encourage 
the stream of trade to flow through their wild fastnesses. 
Lastly, there is the difficulty of supplies; each caravan or 
large party depletes reserves along the road, thus adding to 
the troubles of the local Indian Army Service Corps and 
Kashmir Durbar authorities who have their hands full enough 
already with supplying the Gilgit garrison and the posts along 
the road. For the favoured traveller, however, who comes 
armed with official permission, these obstacles are tackled by 
the local authorities with the utmost goodwill. The British 
officer of the I.A.S.C. in charge of the Gilgit road allows him 
to draw rations for his party and forage for his animals from 
the Supply depots established at most of the stages; the 


6 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


(Indian) officials of the Kashmir Durbar at Bandipur, Astore 
and Gilgit help him as regards any other supplies he may need 
as well as in the all-important matter of pony- or coolie- 
transport from stage to stage; while, last but not least, the 
Political Agent at Gilgit makes the necessary arrangements 
with the chiefs of Hunza and Nagar who, tactfully handled 
and not overworked, treat their occasional European visitors 
with the utmost friendliness and traditional Oriental hospit- 
ality. 

The date of opening of the Gilgit road is governed by the 
state of the two passes which have to be crossed in its early 
stages, the Tragbal (11,950 feet) and the Burzil (13,650 feet). 
Though not nearly so high as the passes further up the road, 
these two make up for their lower stature by their heavier 
snowfall. Climatically they belong to the well-watered 
southern face of the Himalayas. The Burzil in particular, 
owing to its proximity to the immense massif of Nanga Parbat 
(26,620 feet), carries an astonishing amount of snow right into 
the summer. The I.A.S.C., who are chiefly concerned, find 
that as a rule the snow has not melted sufficiently for transport 
to cross easily until the beginning of June, and it is then that 
they declare the pass ‘‘ open.” As a fact, travellers can and 
do cross the pass as much as three or four weeks earlier, by 
travelling at night when the snow-crust is hard; but they do 
so at their own risk, for he who ventures too early in the season 
into the wilds of Gurais and Astore runs the gauntlet not only 
of blizzards on the passes but of avalanches in the valleys. 
We heard about the middle of May that the outgoing Consul- 
General had started down the road from Kashgar much 
earlier than had been expected and, travelling light, hoped to 
reach Srinagar by the end of the month. We were therefore 
advised to wait for him at Srinagar instead of meeting him 
up the road as we had intended, so that we could discuss 
Kashgar matters with him comfortably for a day or two before 
starting ourselves. 

About this time we were joined by an old New College friend 
of mine, Mr. Gerard Price, a planter of tea in far Ceylon who, 
immediately he heard of my appointment, began to long amid 
his spicy breezes for the icy mountains of Central Asia, and 
wrote to ask if he might join us. I had some little difficulty 
in obtaining permission for him to accompany us to Kashgar, 
but eventually succeeded, and he proved a welcome addition 
to our small party. 


TO THE OUTPOSTS 7 


A few days before our departure yet another Kashgar 
pilgrim appeared on the scene in the shape of Mr. H. I. Harding 
of the China Consular Service, who had been employed for 
several years on the staff of our Legation at Peking. Attracted 
like ourselves by the prospect of a year in Central Asia, he had 
volunteered to give up the home-leave due to him and go 
instead to Kashgar for a year in the comparatively humble 
capacity of Vice-Consul in place of Mr. N. Fitzmaurice of the 
same Service, who had occupied the post for four years and was 
only awaiting my arrival to go on leave. Mr. Harding had 
not come alone from Peking; he too had a friend, a Chinese 
journalist from Peking, travelling withhim. We could not all 
go up the road together, as this would have sorely overtaxed 
the resources of the Gilgit route in transport and supplies, 
so the new-comers gave us a few days’ start and followed us, 
marking time occasionally in order to avoid overtaking our 
more slowly-moving caravan. 

Our time in the little house at Srinagar was fully occupied 
in preparations for the journey. There were temporary ser- 
vants to engage, kit and stores to purchase. Numbers of the 
peculiarly strong leather-covered wooden boxes for pony 
transport known as “‘ yakdans”’ and of the baskets, also 
covered with leather, carried by coolies and known as “ kiltas,’’ 
had to be made to order by local craftsmen. Saddlery, camp 
furniture, felt-lined top-boots, ‘‘ poshteens ”’ or sheepskin coats, 
etc., etc., had similarly to be constructed carefully according 
to our specifications. Ahmad Bakhsh and Nizam ud Din had 
to be provided with regular trousseaux including poshteens, 
boots and suits of ““ puttoo’”’ or cheap Kashmir tweed for the 
passes as well as thin khaki twill clothes for the hot weather 
at Kashgar. Kitchen stores and utensils had to be bought 
according to carefully-thought-out lists and packed in the 
yakdans and kiltas, and a stock of knives, watches, table 
cutlery, etc., had to be laid in for presentation to those who 
helped us on the road. Next, transport had to be secured ; 
with the help of the Kashmir Durbar we arranged for twenty- 
five pack ponies to be ready for us at Bandipur on the Wular 
Lake, the jumping-off place of the Gilgit road, to say nothing 
of a dunga or native barge fitted up as a house-boat, with 
cook-boat attached and crews to match, to take us by river 
and lake to Bandipur. Finally, in the daily-increasing heat 
of Srinagar at the end of May, there was the packing—but 
over this I will draw a veil, merely remarking that those who 


8 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


have not packed with a view to a year and a quarter practi- 
cally cut off from all shops, half of it to be spent actually 
travelling and the other half keeping house and entertaining 
on a large scale, simply do not know what packing is. One 
more item in the list of our preparations is worth mentioning, 
and that concerned the language question. Up to the frontier 
all that the traveller needs is Hindustani, more properly called 
Urdu, the lingua franca of the Indian Empire ; though a good 
literary and colloquial knowledge of Persian, especially if 
acquired in Persia itself, will add to his prestige. But in 
Chinese territory a knowledge of Urdu is confined to the 
Indian traders and a very few Chinese subjects connected 
with India or the Consulate-General. Persian, too, is spoken 
by few outside the Afghan colonies in the larger towns. The 
traveller who, like myself, has a rooted objection to being cut 
off from the people of a country by ignorance of their language, 
must learn Eastern Turki, a descendant of the old Uigur 
tongue and a first cousin of modern Turkish. No suitable 
native of Chinese Turkistan could be found in Srinagar to coach 
me, but an excellent Indian subordinate official known as the 
Aqsaqal? of the Yarkandis, whose duties necessitated a collo- 
quial knowledge of Eastern Turki, came to our house almost 
every day for three weeks and gave me a conversational 
start in the language which stood me later in good stead. 
D. joined us occasionally and picked up a few words, to which 
she afterwards added greatly (as a result, partly, of having 
a Turki maid) until by the time she left Kashgar she knew as 
much “ colloquial ”’ as I did. 

While on the subject of languages, it may be of interest 
to mention that no fewer than seven different languages, apart 
from dialects, are spoken on the Gilgit road between Srinagar 
and Kashgar. These are: 

In British Indian territory generally: Urdu. 

In Gurais and Astore: Kashmiri, 

In Gilgit : Shina. 

In Hunza and Nagar: Burushaski. 

In Little Guhyal, and again at Dafdar in the Chinese Pamirs : 
Persian (Wakhi dialect). 

In Sariqol: Tajik. 

In Chinese territory generally : Eastern Turki. 

There could be no better illustration of the extraordinary 


1The word means literally ‘‘greybeard’’ and is used throughout 
Turki-speaking Central Asia for ‘‘ headman.”’ 





RAKAPOSHI FROM NORTH SIDE OF HUNZA VALLEY NEAR BALTIT [p. 25 


TO THE OUTPOSTS 9 


welter of races inhabiting the tangle of mountains through 
which we were soon to thread our way. 

At last, on June 3, 1922, Colonel E. having arrived and the 
necessary conversations with him concluded, all was ready 
for the start. The dunga was brought by its chattering 
crew and moored to the river-bank near our quarters. 
Throughout the morning and half the afternoon our belongings 
gradually transferred themselves into it; our cook, who 
refused to come with us further than Bandipur, ensconced 
himself with his paraphernalia in the cook-boat together with 
A.B. and the “ Knight of the Broom,” and by four o’clock in 
the afternoon we had bid good-bye to our Srinagar friends and 
were slipping quietly down the placid Jhelum. 


* * * * * 


How pleasant it was next day to awake on a perfect 
morning of June and find ourselves gliding peacefully along 
the winding channel which connects the Dal and Wular Lakes ! 
They faded away like a dream, those hot and dusty weeks of 
bustle and preparation, of packing and re-packing, of chaffering 
with tradesmen and bickering with would-be servants, guides, 
horse-copers, boat-owners and all the thousand and one 
different species of tout with which Kashmir’s capital swarms. 
Lithe brown Kashmiri watermen poled us unhurriedly along 
in our Noah’s Ark-shaped craft, reminiscent of house-boats and 
old days on the river, conducive of restfulness. Early rising 
was no hardship in such circumstances, and Gerard Price and 
I with dressing-gowns over our pyjamas were soon sipping 
our early-morning tea on the veranda of the dunga, while the 
first rays of the sun bathed the ice-cliffs of Haramukh hanging 
in the northern sky. 

It is always difficult on such occasions to realize that one 
is at last on the Road; but when it is such a Road as that 
which now lay at our feet ! A few months before, D. and 
I who had never seen even Kashmir would have looked upon 
Gilgit as the furthest limit of our possible wanderings in this 
direction. But now the Gilgit road was but the first and best- 
beaten section of a track which was to lead us right through 
the wild mountain principalities of Hunza and Nagar, through 
the “ Rough Bounds” of Guhyal, over the Great Divide of 
the Hindu Kush, across the lofty wastes of the Pamirs and 
down through little-known gorges to the cities and deserts of 





10 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


a land, the very name of which had long been one to conjure 
with—Chinese Turkistan. 


Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, 


but to be not only young—reasonably so—but bound for 
Kashgar was very Heaven ! 

Much has been written about the road from Srinagar to 
Gilgit, which is traversed yearly by frontier officials, sports- 
men, explorers; globe-trotters and others, and I will therefore 
confine myself to a few impressions and episodes of interest. 
How vivid are some of those impressions still! The landing 
from our dunga at the leafy little “ port’ of Bandipur; the 
strawberries on which we feasted there, tarrying through 
the noonday heat at the cottage of kind Srinagar friends ; 
the first tang of pine-scented mountain air which greeted our 
nostrils that evening as we toiled up to the “ alp ” of Tragbal ; 
a snow-white river in Gurais which gushed out among pines 
from ‘‘ caverns measureless to man’’; a Paradise of corn- 
fields shaded by groves of walnut and mulberry, Astore, 
hanging over its abysmal river-gorge like the gardens of a 
mountain Babylon ; the gashed and blasted flank of Hatu Pir 
with its break-neck descent to the heat and sand-flies of 
Ramghat ; the strange hues and stately reaches of the Indus 
Valley, first seen from the wooded heights of Dashkin. .. . 
It was comfortable travelling ; we slept nightly at well-built 
rest-houses which boasted two or three, sometimes even four 
sets of rooms, and our marches, except when a pass had to be 
crossed, were taken easily enough on foot or horseback accor- 
ding to our whim. Rapid marching was out of the question 
in any case ; for we depended, after crossing the Burzil Pass, 
on local ponies and men for the transport of our baggage; 
and ponies and men alike, poor creatures, were sadly weak 
and emaciated owing to two consecutive years of famine. 
This, we were at first puzzled to hear, had been caused by over- 
copious monsoons; in a land most of which stands upon its 
own edge, as it were, famine is more often caused by exception- 
ally heavy rains which wash whole fields away, crops and all, 
than by drought. We did what we could for those who came 
to us, but it was little enough, for it was food they wanted, 
not medicines or money. A procession of hill-men would come 
to our halting-place, carrying on a primitive bedstead a poor 
wretch in the last stage of some terrible malady, obviously 
brought on, or at any rate aggravated, by a diet of wild plants 


TO THE OUTPOSTS 11 


and garbage ; it was heartrending to have to send the pitiful 
train away up the steep hill-side with but a tin or two of 
condensed milk and a handful of flour, all we could spare, well 
knowing that the man was doomed. We were cheered to hear 
afterwards at Gilgit that Government supplies were on their 
way, now that the Burzil Pass was at last open, and that the 
coming crop promised to be a good one. 

The crossing of one’s first really high pass is a great event, 
and our defeat of the snowy Burzil was a memorable experience 
for allofus. True, it was not quite our first pass, even in Kash- 
mir, for the Tragbal was already behind us. But the Tragbal 
hardly counts, for it only boasts a beggarly 11,000 feet, and 
moreover does not fulfil one’s ideas of a pass at all; rather is 
it a long, bare, grassy upland across which the path winds for 
several miles and then suddenly dives giddily into a forest- 
filled glen. The Burzil, on the other hand, is every inch a 
pass, 13,500 feet high. For two whole marches one steadily 
ascends ; up through the leafy Gurais valley, famed for its 
trout, up the pine-clad slopes of Pushwari, up and ever up- 
wards past the lovely alp of Minimarg, haunt of bears, past 
woods of silvery birch and over boggy meadows pink with 
primulas, each new landscape more beautiful than the last. 
Then the ascent suddenly steepens, flowers and trees drop away 
below and the traveller is left alone with the black rocks and 
the snow and the razor-edged breath of the great ranges... . 
Of real difficulty or danger from the mountaineering point of 
view there is now little or none, though in the early days of 
British penetration the crossing of the pass before the melting 
of the snows must have been a much more arduous business ; 
for then there was no Burzil chauki, or rest-house. Right 
below the lofty saddle of snow which marks the pass appears 
a roomy, stoutly-built chalet of stone, and here, in the cosy 
quarters provided by a benign Government, we made our- 
selves thoroughly at home before roaring fires of pine-logs. 
Within ten minutes of our arrival D. with her habitual 
industry (always warmly approved and encouraged by myself) 
had started in to bake large quantities of the tasty scone of 
her native heath, and in due course the three of us were 
sitting down to a tea @ /’Ecossaise which would have done 
justice to any fishing hotel in the Highlands. 

Under the fierce sun of a Kashmir June, snow softens in 
the daytime at higher altitudes even than 13,000 feet, and it 
is advisable to cross a pass like the Burzil at night or in the 


12 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


early morning, when the surface is firmly caked. Accordingly 
at the ‘‘ dead unhappy ” hour of three next morning, or soon 
after it, we swathed ourselves in every woollen and furry 
garment we could muster and zigzagged sleepily up the bleak 
hill-side. Ours were the first ponies of the season to cross the 
pass and, no path being visible, our only guide was the Burzil 
stream ; when this disappeared under a solid casing of ice and 
snow, the leading carriers had frequently to cast about for a 
practicable route. The snowfields were nowhere steep enough 
to be really dangerous, but there were one or two mauvais pas 
where a slip would have meant an involuntary toboggan-run 
into the depths of the glen, with the possibility of hitting a 
weak point in the torrent’s ice-cap at the end of it. 

Dawn was breaking when we emerged upon wide snow-slopes. 
Here there is a tower of steel girders about 4o feet high with 
a small hut perched comically on the top. This, we were 
informed, was a shelter for those hardy employees of the 
Indian Telegraph Department whose duties take them over 
the pass at all times of the year. At first I could hardly believe 
that so high a tower was necessary ; but our carriers assured 
us that the snow sometimes covered the hut. I thought of 
beloved Munchausen of my childhood, with a new respect for 
his veracity. Accustomed to the snowfalls of my grand- 
parents’ Highland home, seldom more than a foot or two in 
depth, I had always had a little difficulty in swallowing one, if 
no other, of the worthy Baron’s adventures. I refer, of course, 
to the occasion on which the Baron, having tethered his horse 
one evening to a lonely wooden cross which protruded from the 
snow, woke up next morning after a sudden thaw to find him- 
self sitting in the middle of a village market-place and his 
steed dangling by its bridle, kicking and struggling, from the 
topmost cross of the church steeple. Had I known about the 
Burzil, my scepticism would have vanished. 

The going was now easy, and we made good progress past 
the half-buried Burzil Hut at the summit and down the steep 
but smooth northern side, where I longed for skis. By noon 
we had reached Sardar Koti, some miles beyond the foot of the 
pass on the Astore side, and now we understood why it was 
so necessary to cross the Burzil by night at this time of year ; 
the snow, which had been so firm, became, as we crossed the 
last patches, a bog in which ponies and men floundered help- 
lessly. There is also the danger of avalanches, the force and 
fury of which may be gauged from what we saw at Gorai on 


TO THE OUTPOSTS 13 


the north side of the Tragbal. ‘‘ Baedeker,”’ i.e. the official 
route-book, mentions a convenient rest-house at this place 
on a knoll which rises 20 or 30 feet above the torrent. All 
we could see was a sprinkling of stones and fragments of 
mortar on the hill-side, steep as the proverbial side of a house, 
above the knoll. We were puzzled by this, until it was ex- 
plained to us that the year before an April avalanche had come 
down the opposite side of the glen with such momentum that 
its head had shot across the stream and had carried the rest- 
house a hundred feet up the hill-side! Luckily the place was 
empty at the time. 

Near Chillum on the north side of the Burzil we were met 
by the three mounted servants whom Colonel E. had brought 
down from Kashgar and left in Astore to wait for us. To 
eyes unaccustomed to the costumes of Central Asia they were 
an odd-looking trio. They wore dark-coloured overcoats 
padded with cotton-wool and coloured scarves wound round 
their waists, shapeless top-boots and remarkable red and white 
cocked hats exactly like the triangular paper hats made by 
children.1 Of the three new additions to our dramatis per- 
sone two did not remain long in our service after we reached 
Kashgar and may be dismissed briefly. Muhammad Rahim, 
a well-meaning but inefficient Ladakhi strongly resembling a 
baboon, appeared to owe his post as orderly to an alleged 
capacity for camp cooking ; accordingly we tried him as a relief 
for the overworked Ahmad Bakhsh, but the effect upon our 
digestions was such that D. very soon relieved him of his 
culinary duties. Mamatek, the assistant table-servant at the 
Consulate, was an overgrown lad of about sixteen who afforded 
us our first experience of the congenital laziness of the younger 
Turki. But Hafiz, the orderly in charge of the horses, was a 
man of a very different type. Sturdy, active and efficient, 
Hafiz was always in the forefront whenever there was a job 
of work to be done or a difficult bit of road to pilot the caravan 
over. He was particularly good with animals; his was the 
only horse that never gave any trouble, and at Kashgar he 
proved a great success as Keeper of the Camel, when as a 
matter of course he was entrusted with the special duty of 
looking after and leading D.’s stately and supercilious mount, 
Camel Sulaiman, A native of the Kashgar oasis and a Chinese 
subject, Hafiz both in appearance and in characteristics 


1The Kashgar orderlies now wear khaki turbans in the Indian 
style, a form of headgear they much prefer to the local type. 


14 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


approximated rather to the Mongol than to the Iranian type 
of Kashgari Turki. His pluck, honesty, promptness, loyalty 
and unflagging spirits made him in course of time more of a 
friend to both of us than a servant. He accompanied us on 
every yard of our various journeyings and when, two and a 
half years later, we came at last to the end of them, there was 
no one in all Kashgaria with whom we were more grieved to 

art. 
fe In the gloomy depths of the Astore river-gorge, where the 
path clings perilously to the cliff-face and comes at times 
within inches of the foaming river, occurred the nearest 
approach to an ‘“‘adventure”’ that any of us had on this 
journey. An adventure may be described as an unexpected 
occurrence which is dangerous at the time and, like one’s 
schooldays, pleasant (if at all) chiefly in retrospect. I may be 
of an unromantic temperament, but that is how I have been 
struck by the few I have experienced. The adventure in 
question, which certainly merited the above description, came 
about as follows. With the servants we found waiting for us 
at Chillum was the horse which Colonel E. had ridden down 
from Kashgar, and which I was to ride up there, a black 
Afghan stallion of great strength and (as I found afterwards) 
by no means of a vicious temperament. On this occasion, 
however, all four animals had been eating their heads off 
for a fortnight in the clover of Astore; also—cherchez la 
jument—the black horse and a quarrelsome ginger-coloured 
mustang from Yarkand ridden by Hafiz were hated rivals 
whenever there were any mares in the offing. On the day that 
we marched down the gorge from Astore village our caravan 
included two or three mares, a fact which escaped my notice 
until we came up with one that was lagging behind the rest of 
the loads. Suddenly, snorting and flinging up a contemptuous 
heel at his rival as he passed, Hafiz’ steed shot past us, bent 
no doubt on a flirtation with the mare; this was too much for 
the black, which pursued the red horse and sank his teeth in 
the latter’s neck. Followed a battle royal, the red horse’s 
hind legs lashing out time after time like a runaway threshing 
machine and the black snapping furiously at the red’s neck and 
quarters, neither of them paying the slightest attention to 
his rider. 

Most providentially, this Homeric conflict took place at one 
of the few points on the day’s march where the four-foot 
path did not actually overhang the river, from which it was 


TO THE OUTPOSTS 15 


here separated by several yards of detritus fallen from the 
cliffs above; for the combatants behaved exactly as if they 
had the widest plains of their native Turkistan to fight over. 
Perhaps a better horseman than I would have stuck on at all 
costs and dragged his mount out of the mélée by sheer strength 
and will-power ; I frankly confess that I thought of nothing 
but how to jump, slide, tumble or otherwise remove myself 
from the back of my horse at the earliest opportunity and 
thus escape alike the Scylla of the red horse’s hoofs and the 
Charybdis of the river. The worst moment was when the black 
horse lost his balance and sank to the ground with the other 
on top of him; even then; my leg being pinned, I could not 
roll clear, and the beast was up again with me on his back 
before I knew where I was. Finally he reared high in the air 
and I, seeing a few feet of smooth ground behind me, rolled off 
on to it, a few seconds after Hafiz had managed to do likewise. 
Bruised and shaken but thankful, I joined D., who had been an 
agitated spectator of the whole affair, and together we watched 
the horses continue the battle among the rocks. There was 
no stopping them, and peace was not declared until the black 
had bitten several gory holes in his enemy’s neck and had 
torn his near-side saddle-flap right off, and the red horse on 
his part had kicked or savaged his rival in a dozen different 
places. 

Thus was the hungry Astore River baulked of its prey, 
and Hafiz and I escaped with some heavy but not serious 
bruises on back and legs; we struggled into Dashkin and 
there stopped the night, halving our march, and no permanent 
damage was done except to a Government saddle. Needless 
to say we did not allow the enemies within a day’s march of 
each other again, and at Gilgit I graciously loaned the red 
horse as a mount for the rest of the journey to our Vice-Consul, 
Harding, who as already explained was following two or 
three days behind us up the road. But the poor beast was 
doomed to a tragic end after all; in Guhyal, a few marches 
beyond Gilgit, he fell off the path eight hundred feet into the 
Hunza River—without on this occasion, however, doing his 
best to take another horse and a couple of unoffending human 
beings with him. 

Another novel but less unpleasant experience was being 
slung across the Astore River at Ramghat on a bridge con- 
sisting of a single steel cable. A year earlier we could have 
crossed by a fine suspension bridge, ponies, loads and all; 


16 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


but this convenient method of transit was no longer available. 
The previous July, during the annual “spring cleaning ”’ 
and readjustment of the bridge and its cables, one of the 
latter parted and the bridge turned turtle, flinging six unfor- 
tunate workmen into the river and drowning three of them. 
It still spanned the perpendicular-sided gorge, but all twisted, 
tangled and awry, its roadway, railings and all, tilted giddily 
round towards the river a hundred feet below. There was 
something peculiarly grim and yet pathetic about the sight ; 
the picture of the bridge twisting round and the wretched 
coolies dropping off it like flies haunted one, while the vast 
scale of the picture’s setting dwarfed it until the broken bridge 
seemed no more than a strand of spider’s web torn by the falling 
of a twig. Here where it debouches into the Indus, the Astore 
river-gorge is at its narrowest and deepest, and a mighty 
volume of water roars through it in summer from the glaciers 
and melting snows of Nanga Parbat. As D. and I squattedin 
the four-feet-square wooden box without a lid which did duty 
for a car and were jerked slowly across the gulf, we had ample 
time to gaze apprehensively downwards and ask each other how 
any of those six coolies managed to escape at all. 

The temporary rope bridge above described, though up to 
four hundredweight of people or baggage at a time, could not 
cope with horses, and our mounts had to make a detour in- 
volving two extra marches down the Indus to Lezin, across a 
bridge there and up the right bank. We were thus deprived 
of them for two days. To our dismay we found that the 
shortage of horseflesh was even more pronounced nearer Gilgit 
than in Astore, and two or three skinny local “tats ”’ were all 
that we could raise for our servants and ourselves. We had 
perforce, therefore, to foot it most of the forty-four inter- 
minable miles of baking sand and rocks that compose the 
road between Ramghat and Gilgit. In June the Indus Valley 
at this point is not to be compared for heat and biting insects 
with some countries that I have experienced, the Persian 
Gulf littoral for instance, or the plains of Sind though which 
this same Indus flows a thousand miles further south. Still, 
there are cooler places, and I for one have decided that if 
ever I have to travel up this road again in summer, nothing 
will induce me to come down from the cool heights of Astore 
until I am assured of a mount for every yard of the Ramghat- 
Gilgit road. Of our whole journey from Srinagar to Kashgar, 
this was the only section which fell below the level of enjoy- 


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TO THE OUTPOSTS 17 


ment of a delightful picnic; and even it was not without its 
bright spots. After that grilling midday tramp of 8 miles 
from Ramghat to Bunji, the cool gloom of the bungalow 
which another kind friend put at our disposal was no less 
than the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land, and the 
somewhat flavourless white mulberries of the country which we 
devoured in platefuls were luscious as the grapes of Paradise. 
In the late afternoon the heat haze vanished and there ap- 
peared, framed in the mighty curves of the Indus gorges, 
lovely as the Taj at the end of its cypress-vista, the ice-clad 
dome of Nanga Parbat, 26,600 feet high. None of us had 
ever imagined, much less seen, so wondrous a picture of 
mountain beauty and majesty, and we could but gaze in 
silence while the virgin world of ice above the clouds glowed 
brighter and brighter with the gathering of the shadows 
below. 

At Gilgit, which we reached on June 15, we received a royal 
welcome from the Political Agent and his wife, and were 
soon revelling in the comforts of a well-appointed European 
house and the shade and fruits of its delightful garden. One 
of the pleasantest features of travelling in these parts is the 
uniform kindness and hospitality even of perfect strangers, 
who make the most elaborate arrangements for one and insist 
on one’s treating their houses as hotels, even when they are 
not at home themselves. In the present case our hosts were 
old friends of mine, the Political Agent happening by a lucky 
chance to be Colonel D. L. Lorimer, my erstwhile chief at 
Kerman. During the four days we spent at this last European- 
inhabited outpost of the Indian Empire, preparing for the 
longest and wildest section of our journey, often did we talk 
of far-off Kerman and exchange reminiscences of life and travel 
in the sunny land of Persia. 


CHAPTER II 
IN THE HEART OF THE KARAKORAM 


UR three days’ halt at Gilgit gave us a welcome 
opportunity to recondition our kit and replenish our 


stores, according to the experience we had gained and 
the advice we received from Gilgit friends well versed in the 
peculiar “ ropes’ of travel in these parts. We had also time 
to learn something about the wild regions through which we 
were to travel for the next fortnight. The Hunza-Nagar 
country is familiar to those interested in this part of Asia 
from the late Mr. E. F. Knight’s “‘ Where Three Empires 
Meet,’ Sir Aurel Stein’s ‘“‘ Sand-buried Ruins of Khotan,”’ 
and other standard works; but it is of such peculiar interest 
that some remarks about it may not be out of place. 
Stein says of the Hunza Valley, which he traversed in 1900 
on his first journey to Chinese Turkistan : 


* There can be no doubt that this secluded valley, so long inac- 
cessible to outside influence, with its small population wholly isolated 
in regard to language and ethnic origin, contains much that deserves 
careful examination by the ethnographist and historical student.” 3 


The district is part of a region long known vaguely as Dardis- 
tan, inhabited by two widely-differing races.2 The Yeshkun 
tribe, to which the Hunza-Nagaris belong, is probably of 
Ytiehchih or “ Indo-Scythian ”’ original* and is supposed to 
have come up the Indus valley at a very early date, followed 
later by an Indian tribe of more humble lineage called the 


1“ Archeological Explorations in Chinese Turkistan,” p. 8. 

*See Sir T. Holdich’s article on ‘f Gilgit’? in the “ Encyclopedia 
Britannica.” 

’ The Yuehchih or “‘ Indo-Scythians’’ were pushed out of Kansu 
and Eastern Turkistan by Hiong-nu (Huns) from the north, and over- 
ran Bactria (afterwards Balkh, now Afghan Turkistan) about 120 B.c. 
Later they crossed the Hindu Kush and founded a great state in what 
is now the North-West Frontier Province of India, 

18 


IN THE HEART OF THE KARAKORAM 19 


Shins who pushed them by force of numbers into the wilder 
and more inaccessible fastnesses of the Karakoram. 

Well-built, upstanding and fearless, many of them good- 
looking and comparatively fair-complexioned, the men of 
Hunza and to a less extent the Nagaris contrast strongly 
with their neighbours further down the Indus Valley, a 
dark, undersized, grubbyrace. The language of Hunza, Buru- 
shaski, is quite different not only from the Shinada tongue 
of Gilgit but from all other known languages; Stein calls 
it ‘‘an erratic block left here by some bygone wave of con- 
quest.” 1 The ruling families of the two little States are 
reputed to be descended from a common ancestor in the 
fifteenth century, but he, they claim, was descended from 
Alexander ; if the Yeshkuns are really of Yiiehchih origin, as 
Biddulph thinks, it is just possible that this mythical tradition 
represents a race-memory of Bactria which Alexander con- 
quered in 329-7 B.C. However this may be, there is no doubt 
whatever that the race which inhabits the Hunza Valley has 
been there, tucked away in the heart of the greatest mountain 
mass in the world, for a very long time indeed. 

In this connexion, it must surely be more than a mere 
coincidence that the favourite game in Hunza and Nagar, 
which has been played there since time immemorial, is a 
primitive form of polo. Now polo, as is well known, was 
the royal game of Persia in the Middle Ages, though it has 
long been forgotten in that country. More striking still, 
the practice of archery on horseback is still kept up, particu- 
larly in Nagar, which is the more conservative of the two states. 
One of the regular sports there is shooting a narrow at 
full gallop at a small silver mark fixed in the ground; we 
watched the Nagaris doing it when we stayed with the Mir 
on our journey down, and were astonished at the accuracy 
with which they planted their arrows as they thundered 
past. One’s thoughts at once flew back across the ages to the 
ancient Parthians ; could it be that here, in the Indian Empire 
of the twentieth century, the ‘‘ Parthian shot”’ still survived, 
if only as a sport? The art of shooting on horseback, 
indeed, still exists in Persia, but the bow has long since been 
dropped for the rifle. 

Another link with the remote past is the shadowy suzerainty 
still claimed by the Chinese over the people of Hunza, or 
“ Kanjut ’’ as they call it. This is probably a survival of a 

1“ Sand-buried Ruins of Khotan,”’ p. 34. 


20 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


connexion between the Gilgit district and the Celestial Empire 
dating back to a most interesting episode in the history of 
High Asia, one which has only been brought to light during 
the present century through the researches of the late M. 
Edouard Chavannes! and of Sir Aurel Stein. The account 
given in the official Annals of the T’ang Dynasty, our sole 
authority; may be summarized as follows. Towards the end 
of the seventh century A.D. the Chinese, then at the height 
of their power in Eastern Turkistan, occupied the districts 
comprised in the present Gilgit Agency with a view to driving 
a wedge between their two great enemies, the Arabs on the 
upper Oxus and the Tibetans in Ladakh. Between 722 and 
741 the Tibetans, in their efforts to join hands with the Arabs 
and secure a base on the Pamirs for an attack upon Kashgar, 
managed to gain possession first of Baltistan (Polu) and after- 
wards of the Gilgit district (Little Polu). This stimulated 
the Chinese to a truly remarkable enterprise. An army 
ten thousand strong under a general of Korean extraction 
called Kao Hsien-chih marched up to the Pamirs from Kash- 
gar, defeated the Tibetans, crossed the exceedingly difficult 
Darkot Pass (15,400 feet) into Yasin and reoccupied the whole 
of “ Little Polu,’”’ including the Hunza Valley. It is almost 
incredible that so large an army, or indeed any army at all, 
should have performed such a feat; but the T’ang Annals 
are definite and circumstantial on the subject, and Sir Aurel 
Stein by his researches on the spot has worked out the itinerary 
actually followed by the Chinese general. The latter’s ex- 
ploit made a lasting impression on the neighbouring countries 
of Asia, though not perhaps quite such a widespread one as the 
Chinese historian would have us believe when he says that 
“the Syrians, the Arabs and 72 kingdoms of divers barbarian 
peoples were all seized with fear and made their submission.”’ 
“ Little Polu’’ was turned into a military district with a 
garrison of 1,000 men, which, it is interesting to note, was 
afterwards victualled with the utmost difficulty from Kashmir, 
probably by the very same route by which the present garrison 
of Kashmir State troops under British officers has been sup- 
plied for the past thirty-five years. By the end of the eighth 
century the Chinese power had gone down before the victorious 
Tibetans, and close upon a thousand years were to elapse 

1 Chavannes, ‘‘ Documents sur les Tou-kiu occidentaux’’; Stein, 


‘‘A Chinese Expedition across the Pamirs and Hindukush, a.p. 747,” 
“ Journal of the Royal Geographical Society,” February, 1922. 





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IN THE HEART OF THE KARAKORAM 21 


before it was re-established. But the tradition of Chinese 
dominion in ‘‘ Little Polu’”’ seems to have survived. For at 
least two generations before the British conquest the Mir of 
Hunza, or “‘ Kanjut Chief ”’ as the Chinese call him, had been 
sending annual deputations to the Tao Tai of Kashgar with 
tribute in shape of gold dust and woollen cloth; and in 1847 
we hear of Hunza sending a contingent to the aid of the Chinese 
in one of the numerous revolts of the period. And yet there is 
no record of a Chinese army having ever again penetrated 
south of the Hindu Kush. The Hunza deputation still 
waits on the Tao Tai of Kashgar every year with an ounce 
and a half of Shimshal gold dust and bales of rough grey 
tweed, and every year, as a proof that the Kanjut Chief is still 
his feudatory, a photograph goes to the Governor at Urumchi 
showing the Tao Tai sitting in full durbar with scales for 
weighing the gold dust by his side and the men of Hunza 
standing respectfully before him. The Tao Tai indeed makes 
it worth the said chief’s while to pay the “tribute,” for 
he sends back several times its value in presents of porce- 
lain, silk and tea, besides defraying all the expenses of the 
deputation while in Chinese territory. 

The scarcity of even reasonably level ground and the 
poorness of the soil are such that it is only by hard work and 
clever husbandry that the land can be made to support any 
population at all. The crofts and steeply-terraced plots of 
the inhabitants cling precariously to the precipitous sides 
of the river-valley and its narrow side-glens; even in the 
main valley the cultivation is only in three or four places 
more than a few hundred yards wide. To the inhabitants 
of such a country the world consists of “‘ nullahs”’ or confined 
valleys in which men live, and the ice-bound heights between 
them. This is amusingly illustrated by a conversation which 
took place between a British officer of my acquaintance who 
was shortly going home on leave, and a headman in the Yasin 
district. 

“You are going to your father’s home in England, aren’t 
you, Sahib ? ”’ asked the headman. 

“Yes, I am going to the capital of England, London.” 

“London is a very big place, with plenty of shops, isn’t 
it, Sahib ? ” 

“Yes, there are a great many shops.” 

“I suppose it is in a nice wide nullah, Sahib?” 

The country being what it is, one must not be too hard on 


22 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


the men of Hunza if they succumbed to the temptation put 
before them by British encouragement of trade on the Yark- 
and-Leh road and regularly raided the caravans, coming and 
going by the terrible Shimshal gorges through which no 
hostile force on earth could follow them. Even the slave- 
traffic which they carried on, selling their weaker Shin neigh- 
bours in droves across the Chinese border, can be understood 
if not forgiven. Nevertheless, it is hard to believe that they 
were quite as bad as they were painted. Nothing indeed 
surprised me more on the way through their country in 1922 
and afterwards, than the difference between the courtesy, 
good humour, frankness, honesty and genuine friendliness of 
the men of Hunza and the picture drawn of them by the 
author of ‘““ Where Three Empires Meet.’’ Arrogant, blood- 
thirsty, treacherous, cruel—no words of abuse are too strong 
for them. I think the explanation is to be found, partly at 
any rate, in the reaction of a small, despotically-governed 
Oriental people to the character of its ruler. Safdar Ali, 
the Mir who was deposed by the British after the campaign 
of 1891, was from all accounts a man who deserved all Mr. 
Knight’s strictures and more. It was his greed, cruelty and 
arrogance that were responsible for the state of affairs which 
eventually necessitated the Hunza expedition; and one can 
well believe that the fiercer spirits at any rate among his 
entourage became like him. It was only necessary, as the 
British authorities wisely saw, to banish Safdar Ali, or rather 
to let him stay where he had taken refuge in Chinese territory, 
for a great revulsion of feeling to take place among his subjects 
under his admirable successor, Muhammad Nazim Khan, 
the present Mir. In spite of the loss alike of their indepen- 
dence and of the chief source of their wealth, so soon afterwards 
as 1895 the Hunza-Nagaris were rendering yeoman service in the 
Chitral campaign, and at the present day it would be difficult to 
find more loyal and enthusiastic adherents of the “‘ Sarkar.” 
Fierce rivalry has existed from time immemorial between the 
two principalities which frown at each other across the Hunza 
River, unfordable in summer and forming an admirable stra- 
tegic frontier. Though they might combine against a common 
foe, as they did in 1891, a state of chronic warfare had existed 
between them until Colonel Durand’s column enforced the 
pax Britannica which has existed ever since. Not much love, 
however, is even now lost between the two states, par- 
ticularly as the Hunza men are Maulais or followers of H.H. 


IN THE HEART OF THE KARAKORAM 23 


the Agha Khan,! whereas the Nagarisare strict Sunnis. But 
their age-long rivalry is now, theoretically at any rate, a 
friendly one, confined to the polo-field and the various sporting 
contests organized at the zhalsas or “ Highland Gatherings ”’ 
held twice yearly at Gilgit. Only among the older men, 
perhaps, does a lingering regret for the good old days survive. 
D,’s Hunza orderly once took his mistress to see his tall, up- 
standing, white-moustachio’d father, who showed her with 
loving pride the sword and bow with which he used to fight 
the men of Nagar and raid the caravans on the Leh road. 

““ We were poorer in those days,” the old man said. ‘‘ We 
used to take the Nagaris prisoner and sell them as slaves to 
the Kirghiz for the Yarkand market. We used to loot silk 
and pearls and coral from the Leh caravans.”’ He heaved a 
sigh, and then, remembering to whom he was speaking, added, 
“ But now, by the favour of the British Government, we do not 
need to fight or raid any more.” 

The four marches between Gilgit and Baltit, the capital 
of Hunza, are graphically described by Knight in ‘‘ Where 
Three Empires Meet,” and a few extracts from letters written 
on the road and from an account of the journey which I 
compiled soon after arrival at Kashgar will suffice to convey 
some of our more vivid impressions. The first two marches 
up to Chalt, where the extracts begin, are dull compared 
with the second two; little can be seen from the bottom of 
the ever-narrowing Hunza river-gorge along which the road, 
from four to six feet wide and as solid as anyone could wish, 
is carried for the most part on ledges and galleries cut out of 
the cliff-face, alternating with stretches of flat but stony beach. 
Eighteen miles from Gilgit we spent the night at Nomal, a 
sunny strip of orchards and cornfields contrasting happily 
with the desolate gorge above and below it. 

Chalt, 20th June, 1922. 

cd * * % x 


Just before you reach this village the gorge opens out into a fair 
valley round which the pine-forests 


Fledge the wild-ridgéd mountains steep by steep, 
sheltering terraced fields of maize and barley and tiny hamlets set 


1[ had come across a community of this sect in the wild country 
south-east of Yezd, far away in Central Persia, and it was interesting 
to find more of them in another remote corner of Central Asia. We 
were to find yet other colonies of Maulais in Sariqol on the Pamirs 
and in the plains district of Posgam, south of Yarkand. 


24 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


in orchards of apricot and mulberry. The steep Chaprot glen stretches 
away up into the sunset, a sentinel village perched on a poplar-crowned 
crag in its midst; to the south, if you climb a little way up the grassy 
hill-side and are careful not to look round until you reach a little 
shepherd’s hut, there will burst upon you the first marvellous vision 
of twenty-five-thousand-foot Rakaposhi. Like a sword of ice bran- 
dished to heaven, the sharp ridge of Rakaposhi stabs the blue, in- 
credibly far overhead; surely nowhere else in the world can crag 
and snow-slope and ice-cliff be seen from such close quarters towering 
one above the other to a height of nearly four miles! In the evening 
we wandered up the Chaprot path, and from a flat-topped boulder 
watched the setting sun catch points on the ice-wall and make them 
glow like burnished silver above the shadowy forest, while opposite 
us the ‘‘ alpengluh”’ suffused Rakaposhi and the sea of peaks from 
which it rises. 
* x * *- 
Minapin, 21st June, 1922. 
* x * “ * 


At Ghalmit, the half-way house on this march, we were met by 
the son and heir of the Mir of Nagar, a good-looking, well-mannered 
youth of about twenty-five. He is a contemporary of the heir of 
Hunza, our escort Ghazan Khan, and the two are old school-fellows 
and the best of friends in spite of the historic enmity between their 
States. This friendship is cemented by the marriage of Ghazan 
Khan’s sister to the Nagar boy. As for the heir of twenty generations 
of Hunza chiefs, he is a friendly, cheerful youth, fair and sandy with 
a bushy red moustache, a Scotsman to the life did he but dress the 
part. 

We lunched under a spreading plane in the very middle of the 
village; sitting on deck-chairs specially brought for us from Nagar, 
a delicate attention invariably paid to “‘ Sahibs”’ by the thoughtful 
Mir. Soon after leaving the village we were surprised to see ahead 
of us, issuing from the depths of the gorge, vast clouds of what seemed 
to be smoke flying upwards with great rapidity. Somewhat alarmed, 
and wondering whether perchance we had come by mistake to the 
verge of the Bottomless Pit, we pushed on, and soon discovered what 
it was; on the opposite slope of the valley, which is composed of 
crumbling rock and detritus and is pitched at a very steep angle, a 
stone-shoot was in progress—a kind of continuous land-slide in which 
streams of boulders bounded down a funnel-shaped slope, sending up 
columns of dust as they went. Every now and again the battering 
of the stones would dislodge a mighty fragment from the side of the 
shoot and it would join the rout, plunging heavily out of sight to an 
accompaniment of echoing crashes. The remains of the road which 
used to traverse the north side of the valley, right across the shoot, 
are still visible; now not an ibex could tread that path and live. 

This was the only stone-shoot we saw in eruption, so to speak, 
but there were many others on the north side, some enormously high 
and all pitched at an astonishing angle. We had to cross one on the 
south side too, three miles before Minapin. The path is carried away 
in several places, and you have to tread gingerly along a barely- 
visible mark among the loose stones, which sink under your feet and 


IN THE HEART OF THE KARAKORAM 25 


start small avalanches hurtling down to the hungry-looking river far 
below. A few hundred yards on, comes one of those contrasts which 
give their peculiar quality to the landscapes of Kanjit; the unstable, 
desolate, terrifyingly steep stone-slopes with their touch of Dantesque 
horror give place to an Arcadian village set in rich woodland pastures, 
fields of corn and shady orchards perched on cliff-tops and a picturesque 
ruined castle crowning a crag in the midst. Two miles of leafy paths 
brought us to Minapin; here broad fields, heavy with crop, and groves 
of mulberry and apricot trees stretch from the foot of two glacier- 
valleys of Rakaposhi to the very edge of the river-bluffs. In places 
the orchards are brought almost within inches of the sharp-cut edge 
without a wall or fence of any kind, and one marvels at the survival 
of the rosy-cheeked children who are to be seen at every one of the 
farms along the cliff-tops. 
% * * * * 


Baltit, 22nd June. 

The charm of the Hunza valley lies in its amazing combination 
of the most diverse elements in a landscape; in its villages embedded 
in foliage and neat terraced fields overhung by glaciers and needle- 
peaks ribbed with ice; its orchards perched on dizzy cliff-tops, and 
romantic castles built on crags above the gorge; its plume-like water- 
falls spraying vineyards cocked at terrifying angles; its irrigation- 
channels carried along the face of vertical cliffs to homesteads where 
merely to stroll in the garden after dinner must require a good head. 

The Baltit reach of the Hunza valley is the finest of all. At Murte- 
zabad you cross from the south or Nagar side of the river by a sus- 
pension bridge (the northernmost and last of the Indian Public Works 
Department bridges on this road) to the Hunza side. All is bare and 
terrible here, and the sides of the deep gorge are unstable and gashed 
with landslides. Then tiny orchards and neatly-terraced cornfields begin 
once more; suddenly you turn a corner and—there in front of you is 
the heart of Hunza. Imagine a spacious valley with sides from ten 
to eighteen thousand feet high, a winding canyon with a fierce pale- 
brown river threading it below, its sides green-clad up to two thousand 
feet or more above the stream ;} four miles away, right opposite you, 
an ancient castle on a hill covered with flat-roofed houses and trees, 
behind which rises a seemingly vertical mountain-face three miles high, 
crowned with ice-cliffs and snow cornices away up in the blue heavens ! 

At Aliabad a little further on we halted an hour or two for lunch, 
while mounted couriers dashed ahead to Baltit to inform the Mir of 
our approach. He met us a mile out of his capital. We took to him 
from the very first. Mir Muhammad Nazim Khan is a half-brother 
of the exiled tyrant Safdar Ali, in whose stead he was installed as 
Chief of Hunza by Colonel Durand after the campaign of 1891. He 
is a kindly, courteous, quiet-mannered man, vigorous and alert though 
advancing in years, of keen intelligence and wide interests, proud of 
his long lineage and the ancient independence of his people, but equally 
proud of the esteem in which he is held by the British Government 
and by his many European friends and acquaintances, There is 
much to admire on Hunza’s leafy, winding highway, and we arrived 
sooner than we expected at the Mir’s summer residence on its green 
spur below the little town. Tents had been pitched for us under 


26 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


trees, and as our baggage arrived very soon after us we were soon 
comfortably installed. 
* 4 % * i 

This evening at eight o’clock we were bidden to dinner with the 
Mir and his eldest son. Not knowing our host, we expected something 
rather barbaric, and would not have been surprised if we had been 
confronted with mountainous pilaus and nothing but our fingers to 
help ourselves with. Imagine our surprise, therefore, when we were 
ushered into a brightly-lit dining-room containing a well-appointed 
table laid for five in correct English style, on which in due course 
was served a dinner which would have done credit to any ‘‘ Sahib’s ” 
house in the less sophisticated parts of India, The Occidental illusion 
would have been complete had it not been for the Arabian Nights 
music discoursed most pleasantly outside in the garden by the Mir’s 
orchestra, which consists of “ rababs”’ (Persian guitars) with an 
accompaniment of small drums and cymbals. The Chief Musician 
plays “‘ first rabab”’ and sings Persian and Afghan ballads in a soft 
dreamy voice the while. He was once a shining light among the 
Amir’s musicians at Kabul, whence (no doubt for some excellent reason) 
he had one day to flee. Making a living by his music and his songs, 
he wandered up and down the frontier from Zaimukht to Chitral until 
one day he found himself at Gilgit. There at the annual falsa or 
gathering of the tribes the Mir heard him play, and at once engaged 
him to be Chief Musician at Baltit. Since then he has trained several 
Hunza youths, and a “‘ State Band” (not that his master calls it by 
any such grandiloquent title) has come into being which is the joy and 
pride of the music-loving Mir. The Chief Musician’s favourite song, 
which is called ‘‘ Sultan Aziz Jan,” tells of a wild romance of the 
Court of Kabul; it is full of lilt and haunting cadences. Another 
attractive entertainment at the Mir’s dinner-parties is the dancing 
of boys dressed up as Turki girls in brightly-coloured Khotan silk 
robes with long braids of hair imported from Kashgar down their 
backs; pretty girls they make, too, and gracefully they dance. 


Suliaw Aziz Jan 





Baltit, 237d June. 
* ® * * € 

In the afternoon we were taken to see the old Palace, which {s surely 
the most impressively-situated medieval castle in the world. Its 
three storeys are built entirely of timber (if the building had been of 
stone it would have been destroyed by earthquakes long ago) and 
stands on a crag, round the base of which cluster picturesquely the 
not less ancient wooden houses of the Wazir and other functionaries, 
Immediately behind the castle is an abyss, the bottom of which cannot 





CASTLE OF THE MIRS OF HUNZA, BALTIT [p. 26 


ah eS 
: ant A 
4 


On i bay Nn ,* 
Oi she, } 
. y a 





IN THE HEART OF THE KARAKORAM 27 


be seen however much you crane your neck, and close behind that 
again rise ice-crowned cliffs and glaciers to a height of 24,000 feet above 
the sea, second only to those of Rakaposhi in appalling perpendicu- 
larity. The woodwork of the castle’s interior is black with age, and 
the balustrades are highly polished by the touch of countless hands ; 
nor is this surprising, for the place is six hundred years old. On 
the top floor we found a suite of guest rooms, simply furnished 
with bright-coloured modern Khotan rugs and chairs locally made 
and carved. On the walls hang portraits of former Mirs and photo- 
graphs presented to the Mir by “‘ Sahibs’”’ of his acquaintance. There 
is also a little collection of clocks, cups and other souvenirs of European 
friendships, and a few heirlooms such as a richly damascened sword 
and a dagger ornamented with the silver wire-work of Arabia, which 
have been handed down from Mir to Mir for centuries. But the 
glory of the Mir’s castle is the view from its windows. One of them 
opens on twenty miles of the Hunza Valley with marvellous Rakaposhi 
above it; another shows the valley of Nagar crowned by the mighty 
snows of Hispar; a third looks up the gorges which lead to Cathay. 
What King, what Emperor has such a landscape to look upon from 
the windows of his palace ? 
** * * * * 
Baltit, 24th June. 
* * He ** * 
¢ After lunch we all went down to Altit, where a game of Hunza 
polo had been got up specially for our benefit. Never have I played 
such strange polo, nor on so romantic a ground. Any number can 
play at the same time; the sticks used have heavy fish-shaped heads 
set at a sharp angle, almost impossible to hit the ball with when you 
first try ; the ground is very long but (of necessity in a country like 
Hunza) narrow, and is bounded by four-foot walls of rough stones, 
off which the ball comes at remarkable angles; there is no penalty 
for ‘‘ crossing’’ or any other foul; after one side has scored a goal, 
its captain picks up the ball in the same hand in which he holds his 
stick, gallops full speed up the ground followed by his side and at the 
half-way mark throws the ball up and smites it full-pitch towards 
the enemy’s goal. I saw the veteran Mir, who in spite of his years 
is still a wonderful player, perform this feat, known as the tamboh, 
eight times in succession, and never once did he hit the ball less than 
a hundred yards. There are no chukkers, the game continuing until 
one side or the other has scored nine goals. The result is that the 
ponies, though many of them are of the Badakhshi breed famed for 
their stamina and spirit, become dead-beat and the game flags some- 
what after the first twenty minutes or so. While they last, however, 
the game is a most exciting and invigorating one. 

A day full of new impressions concluded worthily with a sword- 
dance in one of the courtyards performed by nine stalwarts of the 
Mir’s bodyguard. I had never seen such a dance—it was thrilling, 
finer even than the well-known Cuttack dancing of the North-West 
Frontier. By the light of three bonfires, with the sixteen-thousand- 
foot precipices behind the Castle gleaming above them in the moon- 
light, those Hunza guardsmen danced like men possessed, and yet 
in perfect time and with every step, every twist and whirl of their 
swords correct. The wild music, the flickering light of the fires, the 


28 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


rows of watching faces, the swaying of the tall dancers and the rhyth- 
mic, inexorable sweep of the swords were for us a never-to-be-forgotten 
experience. 


Our visit to the hospitable Mir came to an end only too soon, 
and we then found ourselves faced with the most difficult 
section of the whole journey. As if to balance the increased 
arduousness of the road, however, we received at Baltit an 
important addition to the strength of our party. Not only 
did the Mir send with us as far as the Chinese frontier a tall 
cheerful Havildar, with instructions that if anything happened 
to us he would be hanged, drawn and quartered and lose 
his job into the bargain, but he generously lent us for the 
whole of our time at Kashgar the services of two of his most 
valuable henchmen. Sangi Khan, whom I gladly engaged 
on the spot as Consular orderly, was a member of the Mir’s 
bodyguard and a model of discipline, honesty and unflagging 
devotion. Stalwart, fair, good-looking and as strong as a 
horse, he was not only a born cragsman (in which capacity he 
was afterwards to prove invaluable) but an intrepid horseman 
with an unshakable seat. From the outset he installed 
himself as D.’s particular henchman, and his strong arm was 
never absent when there was a mauvats pas for her tocross. As 
for horsemanship, his boyish delight in showing off his skill was 
such that we used sometimes, when there was a suitable 
“ gallery,’’ purposely to drop gloves or hats for him to pick 
up, Cossack-fashion, from the saddle. Though far from 
brilliant, Sangi Khan was no fool; he could read and write 
the Arabic script and spoke, besides his native Burushaski, 
Urdu, Turki, and even a little Persian. Our other new ac- 
quisition was Murad Shah, who became our camp cook in 
place of the digestion-destroying Muhammad Rahim. Murad 
showed up less than Sangi Khan, but was no less useful, nay 
indispensable to us throughout our travels. A_ stocky, 
plain, quiet and unassuming but astonishingly hard-working 
and conscientious little man, he never failed us even under the 
most difficult conditions on the road; while as assistant to 
Daud Akhun, the Consular chef at Kashgar, he did at least 
three quarters of the hard work of the kitchen. In fact, his 
devotion to duty was a standing joke in our ménage, for even in 
the middle of the hottest summer afternoon when every one 
else was asleep Murad would be found scrubbing, peeling or 
cooking something or other in the kitchen. 


CHAPTER III 
OVER THE GREAT DIVIDE 


ch: 22 miles of track between Baltit and the next 
inhabited settlement, Galmit, lie through the most 
terrific country imaginable, The turbid Hunza River 
rushes through a gorge of which the sides are mountains 24,000 
and 25,000 feet high. The pathway, which is entirely native- 
built, varies from 18 inches to 4 feet in width and is in many 
places carried for hundreds of yards at a stretch on stakes let 
into the cliff-face. Elsewhere it climbs narrow steeply-pitched 
clefts in the rock by means of a ladder-like arrangement of small 
branches and stones called rafik. The cliffs along the face of 
which so much of the track is thus laid are known as paris. 
Every time the path reaches the outside of a curve of the river, 
it has to climb high up the fam to avoid the water which laps 
against perpendicular and sometimes overhanging rock; on 
the inside of the next bend it drops down no less steeply to 
the stony river-bank for a stretch ; then comes another part, 
and so on. One of these on our first march took an hour 
to cross, and we climbed 800 feet in the process. I was not 
sorry that the whole march was only g miles in length, so that 
we did it comfortably enough; leaving Baltit at noon we 
lunched in deep beds of clover under apricot trees on the way 
and were in by half-past five. Wecamped near the river under 
a waterfall at a place called Ata’abad; we were told that there 
was a village of that name, but it was perched on a ledge of the 
cliffs g00 feet almost vertically above our heads, so that we 
could not see it. It was pleasant to camp that night for the 
first time in our cosy, double-fly 80-lb. tents, and dine by 
the dim light of hurricane lanterns on our X-pattern table 
under the stars. Tired though we were, we thrilled to think 
that we had left dak-bungalows and Public Works Department 
roads behind and had all Central Asia before us. 

On next day’s march the grandeur of the Hunza gorges came 

29 


30 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


to a climax. At each corner it was more difficult than at the 
last to believe that any way could be found through the ap- 
parently solid wall of cliff, thousands of feet high, in front of us. 
Except for a mile of stony hill-track at Bulchidas in the middle 
of the day, the path was one continuous succession of vafiks 
or ladders. It was too bad even for led horses, and our three 
had to be taken up to the village of Ata’abad and thence by a 
long détour high up among the mountains. As a matter of 
fact, from Hafiz’ account the track they went by cannot have 
been so very much better than ours, for in several places they 
had to take the horses over one by one, two men at the head 
and two at the tail. However, they all arrived safely late in 
the evening. . 

Ghalmit is an attractive village boasting about 300 acres 
of fields and orchards well shaded with planes and poplars. 
It is walled round with lofty jagged peaks of a yellowish tint, 
fantastically fretted and carved into minarets and towers. The 
villagers, curiously enough, are mostly Wakhis who came 
originally from Guhyal near the headwaters of the Oxus, 
away up on the Roof of the World beyond the Hindu Kush ; 
hence the name of this part of Hunza, Little Guhyal. They 
are a fine, tall, full-bearded race like the better type of cul- 
tivator in some parts of Eastern Persia. They speak among 
themselves Wakhi, an archaic dialect of Persian, of which I 
could not make out much ; to me they spoke the debased and 
Indianized Persian current in Chitral and other parts of the 
far North-West. | 

Next day’s march (27th June) was a memorable one. We 
started at 7.15, crossed one glacier, skirted round the foot 
of another, crossed a third and reached Khaibar at 8 p.m. 
It must have been a back-breaking day’s work for our fifty-one 
porters, each of whom carried the regulation load of about 
fifty pounds—no bagatelle, as anyone who has tried to carry 
a box of that weight up a steep and stony mountain-side 
will testify. The porters who usually take loads from Ghalmit 
to Khaibar come from an Arcadian village buried in orchards 
called Ghulkin, the music of whose plashing stream belies the 
cacophony of its name, and they must be a powerful race. 

We were disappointed with our first glacier, the Sasaini 
or Hussaini. Only a short section of it is visible from the 
moraine, and on the glacier itself, instead of the pure greenish- 
white pinnacles and grottoes and walls of ice that we had 
expected, all we could see was a tumbled waste of mud and 








N THE HUNZA GORGES BETWEEN ATA’ABAD AND GALMIT [p. 29 
















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OVER THE GREAT DIVIDE 31 


stones with here and there what looked like blocks of obsidian 
rising through it. The latter turned out on closer examination 
to consist of black ice, while the mud and stones proved to 
be merely a thin layer covering unknown depths of the same 
substance ; but it is first impressions that count, and ours were 
disappointing. The Pasu glacier is a more satisfactory speci- 
men of its kind; it is broader and whiter then the Hussaini, 
and a much longer stretch of it is visible from the high lateral 
moraine. It was in the afternoon, however, that we were 
introduced to the greatest of them all, the Batura. The upper 
reaches of this glacier are unexplored, even by the native 
mountaineers of Hunza; its length is unknown, but is esti- 
mated at 50 miles.1_ As one views it from the top of the high 
lateral moraine, it comes round in a great sweep between two 
ranges of black serrated cliffs ; on this occasion mists veiled the 
snow-peaks beyond, and the great river seemed to pour down 
from a world of ice infinitely high and infinitely remote. For 
a moment, one had the impression of a flood of deadly cold- 
ness invading this earth from Outer Space. 

Crossing the Batura with a caravan is a strange and some- 
what arduous experience. As the surface of the glacier is 
always changing, there is no fixed path, and the leading coolies 
pick their way across as best they can. Very soon after the 
moraine was left behind we found ourselves in a fantastic 
world of glassy black cliffs alternating with forests of crystal 
pyramids, brooklets of pale emerald water flowing in beds of 
aquamarine contrasting with steep banks and ridges of dirt 
and stones, hideous to behold. For what seemed an age the 
coolies scrambled and slid and toiled ever up and down, up 
and down, now treading gingerly along razor-edge ridges of 
ice, now splashing through the pools at the bottom of shallow 
crevasses. Finally all the loads and—more anxious work— 
the horses were piloted safely across, and after a steep ascent 
we found ourselves on the top of the north moraine. From 
here it was 6 miles of easy going to Khaibar, and we treated 
ourselves to a picnic tea under a rock in a hollow of the moor, 
while the weary coolies filed slowly on. We could understand 
their being tired, for we were not exactly sprightly ourselves 
when at eight o’clock we straggled into the little lonely village 


1 Since the writer’s return to England the Batura Glacier has been 
explored by Mr. Ph. C. Visser and party, who have found it to be 
37 miles in length. The longest glacier in the Himalaya is 16 and in 
the Alps to miles long. 


32 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


of Khaibar, herding the last of the coolies with alternate 
objurgation and encouragement. Nevertheless we had the 
tents up, boxes open, beds put up and ready to sleep on and 
were eating a hot dinner by 9:15—not a bad record. 

That night and the next day it was rainy and cold, so we 
contented ourselves with an 8-mile march to the pretty plateau- 
village of Gircha. The valley with its steep crumbling sides 
and turbid river was the very picture of desolation and had 
an end-of-the-world feel about it, an impression which was 
deepened by the gloominess of the weather and the mists 
which shrouded the sinister shapes of the jagged peaks to 
the south. At the sixth mile from Khaibar a few huts and 
scanty cultivation afford welcome relief; the place is called 
Murkhun, and from here a forbidding gorge leads north-east- 
wards up among wild mountains twenty thousand feet high 
towards Shimshal and the Raskam country. The Shimshal 
route is practically the only means of access to the Raskam 
gorges of the upper Yarkand river, and even it is almost im- 
passable in summer. 

Next morning barely enough coolies were available for 
our loads, and it was half-past eight before our caravan took 
the road. The going was at first surprisingly good, but at 
the pleasant little orchards of Sost the track led up a deep and 
difficult valley to the north and for five miles was scarcely 
anywhere more than two feet broad, with breakneck slopes 
above and below. Shortly before we reached the junction of 
the Kilik and Khunjerab rivers we crossed the main stream by 
a swaying suspension bridge, the approach to which is dis- 
tinctly alarming ; one slip on the steep rocks, and if you missed 
the bridge you would return to India, by water, considerably 
quicker than you came. Then came a terrific pavi with the 
most imposing views up the Khunjerab gorges, and a descent 
of a thousand feet to the right bank of the Kilik. Once’ 
past the junction the going was slightly better, but there 
were several awkward little avis and land-slides before we 
reached the bridge below Misgar. As we came to it we heard 
a rattling sound from the opposite bank, and looking up saw 
that the path there crossed a narrow but high stone-shoot. 
Stones, none of them very large, but some quite big enough to 
puncture one’s skull, were rattling merrily down from a point 
out of sight among the cliffs above, and it was ten minutes 
before this performance ceased sufficiently to allow us to 
proceed. A stiff pull up across the cliff-face brought us on to 


OVER THE GREAT DIVIDE 33 


the bleak plateau of Misgar, where at a height of 10,150 feet 
twenty or thirty hardy Hunza families scrape a precarious 
livelihood out of the rock-debris of the crags above. We had 
now passed out of the Wakhi enclave and were in Hunza-in- 
habited country oncemore. The fields of barley were half-grown 
and the struggle that their production must have cost was 
betrayed by the size of the stone walls, or rather ramparts, 
which divided them and by the heaps of stones dotted about 
everywhere. The houses are similarly scattered about the 
fields, and in fact look like nothing more than rather larger 
heaps of stones roughly arranged into walls and covered with 
thatch; these, however, are only inhabited in the summer, 
the people in the Arctic winter of this place moving into 
an entirely separate group of houses huddled together under 
the lee of a ravine-bank at the north end of the plateau. 

The wind was bitterly cold when we arrived shortly before 
sunset, and we were grateful for the shelter of the telegraph 
station, a solidly-built three-roomed house of stone. The 
Indian Christian clerk in charge and his assistant seemed to 
be quite happy at this, the remotest and probably the bleakest 
station on all the far-flung Indian telegraph system. The work 
consists entirely in receiving and despatching Kashgar messages 
by the weekly ‘“ dakchis’”’ or couriers, who take twelve days, 
winter and summer, to do the journey across the Roof of the 
World. 

As we approached the Mintaka the path became narrower 
and the going more uneven ; but the Mir of Hunza’s men had 
kept it, such as it was, in good repair and we were nowhere 
seriously held up. Four miles from Misgar the valley of the 
Kilk River bends up to the right (north) and after a series 
of cataracts opens out and becomes, as it were, cleaner and 
better ventilated. Wild roses, primulas, gentians and other 
flowers which we had not seen since the Burzil begin to appear, 
star-scattered over the greensward, and groves of graceful 
birches line the banks of a more pellucid river. Murkushi 
is a pleasant thicket of willow and ash at the junction of the 
Kilik and the Mintaka streams, where one’s tents can be 
pitched on grass in shelter from the chill winds which sweep 
ever up to or down from the passes that lead to the Pamirs. 

To D.’s huge delight, next morning there appeared two 
magnificent yaks belonging to the Mir, which he had kindly 
ordered to be brought down from their grazing-grounds for us 


to ride over the Mintaka, The two great beasts, “ lovely 
3 


34. CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


hairy cows ”’ as she irreverently called them, were an inspiring 
sight as they minced towards us over the meadow, their 
absurdly short legs carrying their massive bodies as lightly 
as any cat’s—well meriting the Mir’s epithet with which he 
described them to us, billi-patta or, exactly, “‘ pussy-foot.”’ 
D. chose the black one (she has a Mazeppa-ish preference for 
black steeds which extends even to yaks), and before the sun 
had risen above the cliff-tops she and G. were trotting nimbly 
up the mountain-side, followed by myself on the black horse. 
The pace at which a yak can carry up a steep and rough path 
not only his own enormous weight—that were surprising enough 
—but a full-sized rider as well, must be seen to be believed. 

Above the wide flat meadow of Builip, where the bordering 
cliffs are hollowed into cave-dwellings for the shepherds— 
northermost inhabitants of the Indian Empire—the valley 
steepens. Boulder-strewn slopes alternate with vivid green 
meadows, quite flat ; cascades plash merrily down from butt- 
ends of glaciers far above, and the cliffs are ornamented with 
flourishing beds of ice-flowers even in June. We contented 
ourselves with a short and easy march to Gul Khwaja, for in 
the circumstances there was no question of crossing the Min- 
taka in one day from Murkushi. The foot of the Mintaka 
Glacier loomed cold and grey above the rough-built Govern- 
ment hut, and the narrow camping-ground, amid a chaos of 
boulders looked from a distance most uninviting ; but under 
an over-hanging rock in the bright afternoon sun we were as 
warm and comfortable as on a Riviera beach, though the place 
was 13,650 feet above the sea. 

Apart from a little breathlessness which D. experienced 
during the night, none of us suffered from the altitude; but 
I developed towards nightfall one of the terrible headaches 
from which I suffered every time I crossed a high pass, and 
afterwards found to be caused not by altitude but by eye-strain 
due to wearing too strong sun-glasses. I got it under by means 
of aspirin and so achieved sleep, but alas ! the unevenness of the 
tent-floor was too much for my rickety borrowed camp-bed, 
which chose the smallest of the small hours to collapse under 
me. Now when a Rurki-pattern bed collapses, it does it 
thoroughly, and it takes three strong men twenty minutes to 
put it together again ; so there was nothing for it but wearily 
and with splitting head to extract the tangled mess of poles 
and cord and canvas from under my mattress and doss down 
on the very knobby floor. During the rest of the night I had 


OVER THE GREAT DIVIDE 35 


ample time to meditate upon my folly in accepting a job which 
entailed spending the night reclining upon ground as high, and 
probably at least as bumpy, as the top of the Matterhorn. 

Glorious weather favoured our crossing of the Mintaka Pass, 
the Great Divide which separates India from China. Only 
the last 1,200 feet of the ascent are really steep, though the 
going is rough all the way, and the rarity of the air makes the 
pace slow at the end. From the col, for which my aneroid 
gave a height of 15,600 feet, an unrivalled view of the whole 
Mintaka Glacier and forests of strangely-fretted dolomitic 
peaks tempted us to linger, but we hurried on over the slushy 
remains of snow-fields on the flat top of the pass, for we longed 
to see what was beyond. It was a great moment when we 
stood for the first time on the soil, or rather rocks, of China 
and gazed northwards upon the Pamirs. The contrast be- 
tween them and the Hunza-Nagar country through which we 
had just passed leapt to the eye. What strikes one at once about 
the Pamirs is their cleanness and their spaciousness. The 
soil, the water, the contours of the hills are all cleaner and 
purer than the crumbling, decaying rocks, the muddy rivers 
and the black sinister mountains of the terrible country to 
the south of Mintaka. Again, the general level of the ‘‘ Roof 
of the World”’ is so high, from 10,000 to 14,000 feet, that 
though the mountains go up to 18,000 and 19,000 feet they 
do not give the impression of overpowering height; they 
are dwarfed by the vast spaces all round them. 

At the northern foot of the pass we found awaiting us the 
party which had come out from Tashqurghan to meet us. 
There was Sharif Beg, a big handsome young Kirghiz volum- 
inous in a quilted coat, Russian boots and a big astrakhan- 
rimmed cap ; he was the “‘ Beg” of Mintaka and represented 
the Chinese Amban or magistrate of Sariqol district. Then 
there was Nadir Beg, who figures on the Consulate roll as 
“Watchman in Sarigol”’ on the lordly salary of Rs.15 (£1) 
a month, but is a considerable landowner, keeps several 
horses and looks more like a retired Indian officer than anyone 
else. Various other Kirghiz and Tajik Begs had come out from 
their camp at Mintaka Aghzi, stout hairy good-humoured 
people who seemed genuinely glad to see us. With this escort 
we made short work of the mile or so of bare but green and 
smiling valley which led to Lopgaz, where Kirghiz tents (aq-o1) 
had been set up for our occupation.} 

1For a description of the Kirghiz aq-oi see Ch, XI, p. 155. 


36 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


As soon as we were settled into camp we asked the Begs 
to tea. They were shy at first, but once they had got over 
this and had learnt how to spread a Scottish scone with 
English bottled honey, they enjoyed themselves thoroughly. 
Like most of the Sarigolis they could all speak more or 
less intelligible Persian, so there was no difficulty about 
conversation. 

Next day (3rd July) for the first time our whole caravan 
consisted of yaks, in all six riding and eighteen baggage 
animals, and they did the 27 miles to Paik in 104 hours. For 
us the brilliant clearness and invigorating purity of the air, 
the springy turf extending for miles under our horse’s hoofs, the 
sense of illimitable freedom given by a gallop over the spacious 
Pamirs, all combined to make that morning’s ride from Lop- 
gaz down to Mintaka Aghzia memorable one. Just below the 
junction of the Karchanai and Mintaka streams we break- 
fasted largely under a rock, little knowing what was in store 
forus. Hardly had we travelled a mile further, when we came 
upon four or five ag-o1s looking ike enormous button mush- 
rooms on the wide meadow, with countless sheep and goats 
and a few yaks grazing peacefully around. It was the 
encampment of one of the Begs whom we had entertained to 
tea the afternoon before, and it was out of the question to 
refuse a return of hospitality; accordingly we were soon 
sitting cross-legged on the floor of the largest ag-oi and absorb- 
ing enormous quantities of excellent flat circular loaves, tea, 
cream, dried apricots and fot or rich curdled yak’s milk. 
Thanks to the air of the Pamirs, G. and I at any rate did 
ourselves well, to the satisfaction of our hosts; indeed, poz 
sprinkled with sugar and spread thickly over fresh Kirghiz 
bread makes a meal fit for a king. All the while our hosts 
remained standing and hungry, according to the universal and 
somewhat embarrassing custom of hosts in Central Asia. The 
women interested us as much as we, and especially of course 
D. in her quasi-masculine riding attire, interested them. 
They are not veiled, or even particularly shy ; of a good-looking, 
square-faced, high-cheekboned type, quite fair, were it not 
for their quaint garb they might have stepped out of any 
Scandinavian village. Their costume is certainly delightfully 
picturesque. Unlike the men, they wear turbans, but of a 
fashion not seen in India or Persia; of snow-white calico, 
tightly and neatly wound and flat-topped, the feminine head- 
gear of the Pamir Kirghiz looks for all the world like a large 





NANGA PARBAT (26,620 FEET) FROM BUNJI, INDUS VALLEY 





D. AND G.C.P. AT BREAKFAST BEFORE CROSSING THE MINTAKA PASS (15,600 
FEET) 


ine 
’ ' a, 


Me itete: 
4 nd ie fh 7 
epi ts: 

- a. A ; 


" fe ty 
} . 


“ey Tig y eS a, 





OVER THE GREAT DIVIDE 37 


china cream-bowl perched on the wearer’s head. One expects 
it to slop over any moment; yet its fair wearer not only 
balances it without difficulty, but also hangs a long strip of 
gaily embroidered silk down from the back of it, almost to 
her heels. Their party-frocks are also of this many-coloured 
type, of Bokhara silk or cotton ; altogether, a bevy of Kirghiz 
beauties on the greensward in the brilliant sunlight of their 
native Pamirs is a gay sight indeed. The Kirghiz have an eye 
for colour: their huts are hung inside with richly-tinted red 
and blue strips of carpet, pieces of Andijan satin, coloured 
leather articles and, most effective of all, large reed mats 
decorated with characteristic designs in dyed woollen thread. 

With great difficulty and protestations of eternal friendship 
we at last tore ourselves away from the hospitable tent of our 
friend—only to be confronted a mile farther on by an even 
larger and more opulent encampment belonging to another of 
our Begs, where the same performance had to be repeated. It 
would, of course, have been highly invidious to have eaten less 
pot and Kirghiz bread spread with cream here than we had 
absorbed in the tent of a rival Beg, and by the time we had 
finished being tactful we could hardly hoist ourselves on to our 
horses. We were visibly, I fear, relieved when in answer to 
our anxious inquiries we were informed that the 17 miles of 
road to Paik held no more hospitality in store for us. 

At Mintaka Aghzi (“‘ the mouth of the Mintaka’’) we were 
within a few miles of the frontiers both of Afghan Wakhan 
and of the Russian Pamirs; so that three Empires and 
one Kingdom very nearly (but not quite) met close to us. 
The pleasant green land seemed to be populated, apart from 
the few Kirghiz and their flocks and herds, entirely by golden 
marmots (Arctomys aurea). These little animals made us 
laugh with their curious cry, like a street-urchin’s derisive 
whistle, the intriguing black tips to their tails and the cheeky 
way in which they sat up and gazed at us from the edges of 
their burrows, ready if we made a sign to pop down like a 
jack-in-the-box. 

At the very draughty little Chinese post of Paik, 12,650 
feet above the sea, we did not envy the lot of the N.C.O. and 
his ten seedy-looking men. He looked as if he smoked opium, 
and no wonder. This detachment was withdrawn not very 
long after we passed; its existence at Paik for a few years 
was an indirect result of the Great War. 

Next morning on the march to Dafdar, 22 miles, we at first 


38 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


had great trouble with the caravan, which consisted this 
time of six camels and five yaks. I wrote feelingly about it in 
a letter home as follows : 


“The people of this country have no idea how to load a camel. 
They seem to think it ought to be done by perching as many packages 
on top of the beast’s spine as possible, then tying a single rope round 
the whole and finishing up by hanging a lot more odd articles from 
any projecting corner they can find; the result is that before the 
animal has gone half a mile, various tin cans, lanterns, baskets, hat- 
boxes and other odds and ends have become unshipped and the balance 
of the load, such as it was, is destroyed. Round slips the whole affair 
under the camel’s stomach, whereupon he takes fright and bolts. 
Now a camel bolting at the ungainly, lumbering trot of the species 
with several hundredweight of assorted luggage raining off him like 
leaves in autumn is one of the funniest sights imaginable when it is 
somebody else’s luggage; but when it is one’s own cases of whisky, 
medicine chests or favourite yakdans that are dangling from the beast’s 
tummy, the humour of the situation is not so striking. This happened 
to every one of the camels, and to most of the yaks as well, within 
the first two miles of the march, and we all expended much energy 
and language helping the men to put the loads on again. Once the 
camels had been loaded in the proper way, 1.e., with the load in two 
separately tied up and compact parts hanging on each side of the 
animal and balancing each other, all went well; but do you suppose 
the owners took the lesson to heart? Nota bit of it. Next morning 
all the luggage was perched on the top of the camels exactly the same 
as of old.” 


A mile or so below Ujadbai we passed a high, craggy moun- 
tain on the west side of the river called Qizqurghan or the 
‘““ Maidens’ Castle.’ Nadir Beg pointed out to me the ruins 
of a fortress high up on its face, and told me there was a local 
legend about it which he had once heard but had forgotten. 
It was something about a Persian princess who had long ago 
reigned over Sariqol from this impregnable castle with a body- — 
guard of maidens, Amazons as it were, and had allowed no man 
to come near. Water they had obtained by means of deep 
wells and Persian wheels; it was said that remains of these 
wheels (otherwise unknown in the Pamirs) were still to be 
seen among the mountains. Remembering this story of 
Nadir’s I was much interested to read afterwards in Sir Aurel 
Stein’s Ruins of Desert Cathay (vol. I, p. 90) a description of 
these ruins, which he reached after a difficult climb. The walls, 
he says, extend for 450 feet, average 16 feet in thickness and 
are over 20 feet high where best preserved. They contain 
thin layers of juniper twigs, like the ancient Chinese border 
wall in the Lop desert, and probably belong to the same period. 


OVER THE GREAT DIVIDE 39 


More interesting still, the famous Buddhist pilgrim Hsuan- 
tsang, who returned to China from India via Afghanistan and 
the Pamirs in A.D. 642, saw this same fortress, which was even 
then in ruins, and relates the legend he heard locally about 
it. This was to the effect that a Chinese princess of the 
Han Dynasty had been betrothed to the King of Persia and was 
being escorted to his capital from Peking. At Chieh-p’an-t’o 
(Sarikol, Chinese Pamirs) the way was blocked by robbers and 
the princess’ Sarikoli escort placed her for safety on an isolated 
peak protected by precipices. Here, well-guarded though 
she was, the Sun-god visited her, and when at last the way 
was clear and the escort came to fetch her, they found her 
with child. They were so impressed that they begged her to 
stay and rule over them. The chiefs reigning in Sarikol in 
the pilgrim’s time were descended from the son then born to 
her. Sir Aurel also mentions that the Afrasiab hill near 
Tashgurghan is supposed to be called after the son of the 
Princess, who was buried there. He says nothing about 
remains of Persian wheels. 

From Dafdar, where there is a flourishing colony of Wakhi 
immigrants from Afghanistan who have made the desert 
blossom like the rose; the road is flat and almost featureless 
the whole 34 miles to Tashqurghan. Only the finely-scarped 
Sariqolrange on the left and, on clear days,a distant glimpse 
of the great white dome of Muz Tagh Ata in front, relieve the 
monotony of the view. Three miles from Tashqurghan, at 
an outlying farmstead of Tughlan Shahr, we were met by a 
reception-party consisting of the Aqsaqal or British agent at 
Tashqurghan, the local Piy or chief of the Maulai sect and a 
few other Maulais and British subjects. In the farm-house 
we were entertained at our first chah-jan, the wayside reception- 
feast which is such a feature of the elaborate ceremonial of 
Chinese Central Asia. We had only just eaten our sandwiches, 
but rather than disappoint the good British subjects we did 
our best with the #z/aus, sour cream and local bread. Hardly 
had we consumed the last mouthful of which we were capable 
when we were informed that the Pir of the Maulais had invited 
us to a similar feast at his house a mile away! There was 
nothing for it but to climb on to our steeds and proceed to the 
Pir’s house with as much grateful alacrity as we could muster. 
A regular procession followed us across the fields. Meanwhile 
a thunderstorm had been brewing, and before we were half-way 
a heavy shower of rain and hail came on, There being appar- 


40 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


ently only one table and three chairs in Tughlan Shahr, these 
had to do duty at both entertainments, and we were regaled 
with the sight of our dining-table galloping ahead of us on a 
frisky horse, closely followed by the chairs. A hundred yards 
from home the table began to come to pieces, and its legs soon 
strewed the fields; the sportsman who carried it, however, 
was quite unperturbed; excited small boys collected the 
pieces and we were astonished to find the hard-worked piece 
of furniture, richly dight with loud-hued table cloth and 
almost literally groaning with food, awaiting us in the Pir’s 
innermost drawing-room when we arrived ! 

Between Tughlan Shahr and Tashqurghan the river flows in 
many channels across meadows of close-cropped grass, covered 
with cows, ponies and donkeys grazing. Tashqurghan is the 
seat of a Chinese Amban or District Magistrate, and this 
gentleman ought, we were informed, to have fired a salute of 
three guns and had the troops out in honour of our arrival ; 
rather to our relief, he considered we were not important 
enough and omitted todo so. Hecontented himself with send- 
ing his large red paper visiting card by the hand of his secretary 
and interpreter, a sly-looking person with a remarkable fluency 
in Persian, Turki and Chinese as well as his native Tajik. 
The house of the Aqsaqal, which is used as a rest-house by 
British travellers and is well situated on a bluff overlooking 
the bazaar, is a small place consisting of an outer courtyard 
with servants’ quarters and an inner one, pleasantly shaded 
by willows, with two small “ sahibs’ rooms”’ and a kitchen. 
Here we made ourselves comfortable enough for the three 
nights we stayed at Tashqurghan. 


CHAPTER IV 
THE MOUNTAIN ROAD TO CATHAY 


HE name Tashqurghan means in Turki “ stone fort’, 
and the place is probably identical with the AdOwog 


mbeyos of which Ptolemy speaks as having been the 
extreme western emporium of Seriké (China). At that time 
it was called by the Chinese Hopanto and was the capital 
of the frontier district of that name.1- Now once more it is 
the headquarters of the Chinese Amban of Pu-li or Sariqol, 
who rules a long strip of country along the eastern rim of 
the Pamir plateau. Sariqol was made into an administrative 
district at the beginning of the present century, when it came 
into prominence from the Chinese point of view owing to the 
occupation of the neighbouring Pamirs by Russia. For 
years, indeed, the Tsar’s Government kept a detachment of 
infantry at Tashqurghan, regardless of the fact that it was 
Chinese territory ; the solid mud-brick fort built by them is 
still in good repair though it has been empty since its evacu- 
ation in 1920 by the last remnants of the former Cossack 
garrison of the Pamirs. Ethnically, the district is interesting 
as being populated in about equal proportions by two contrast- 
ing races. These are, firstly, the Tajiks, who are remarkably 
pure specimens of the original Homo alpinus stock and have 
inhabitated this remote corner of High Asia since the dawn of 
history ; secondly, the Kirghiz. These latter belong to the 
tribe called by the Russians Kara-Kazak; they are the 
southernmost branch of the great Kirghiz race, and they can 
only live as far south as the Pamirs, theimmense elevation of 
which makes up for the low latitude and produces a climate 
as rigorous as that of the Steppes. 

Two entirely different routes, each about ten marches in 
length, connect Tashqurghan with Kashgar. The one usually 
followed in summer is the eastern or Chichiklik route which, 

1Stein, ‘ Sand-buried Ruins of Khotan,” pp. 71-2. 
41 


42 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


after crossing four passes between 12,000 and 16,000 feet high 
and traversing three different valleys sparsely inhabited by 
Kirghiz, debouches upon the great plain of Central Asia near 
the flourishing town of Yangi Hissar. The winter route goes 
north from Tashqurghan over the easy Ulugh Rabat Pass » 
(circ. 13,500 feet) to the Rangkul Pamir, past the beautiful 
lakes of Little Qarakul and Basikul, and then down through 
the tremendous gorge of the Gez River which cuts through the 
Kashgar Range between the great ice-clad massifs of Qungur 
(25,146 feet) and Chakragil (22,180 feet). It comes out on 
to the Kashgarian plain at Tashmalik, whence the city is 
reached in two marches. 

Sarigol is about the most unpopular district among Chinese 
officials in all Eastern Turkistan. Its capital is 10,250 feet 
above the sea and has a climate which may be described as 
three months spring and nine months winter; most of the 
ten days’ journey from the nearest civilization has to be 
performed on horseback instead of in the Peking cart beloved 
of the travelling Celestial ; last but not least, the inhabitants 
are an unruly lot, very different from the timid and peaceable 
Turkis of the plains. Small wonder then that the Governor 
of Chinese Turkistan at Urumchi has the utmost difficulty 
in finding men for the post. But he does find them, and what 
is more he removes and replaces them if (as may be expected 
sometimes in a place so remote from supervision) they mis- 
behave themselves ; a fact which throws a remarkable light 
upon the effectiveness of Governor Yang’s control over a 
district which is no less than two months’ journey from his 
headquarters. 

But though the Ambans may regard themselves as Ugo- 
linos condemned to an Inferno of cold, the summer visitor 
to Tashqurghan will find much that is pleasing in the marvel- 
lous clearness and purity of its air, its spacious greensward 
threaded with pellucid streams and the beautiful shapes of 
the mountains which stand in glittering ranks all round, 
yet not too near it. Conspicuous among these is Muz Tagh 
Ata, ‘‘ Father of the Ice Mountains,” blazing in all its mighty 
mass of whiteness over the vivid green of the meadows. 
Though it is 24,388 feet high, the enormous width of Muz 
Tagh Ata detracts from its beauty as a mountain, and it does 
not compare for a moment with Rakaposhi or Nanga Parbat ; 
but its very size is impressive, and the vast extent of its snow- 
fields and glaciers, the whiteness of which has an intense 


THE MOUNTAIN ROAD TO CATHAY 43 


quality not seen in lower snows, makes it an impressive spec- 
tacle. The wide floor of the Sariqol Valley is dotted with 
homely little farmsteads, each nestling snugly beside a clump 
of willows. The soil is remarkably good ; wheat, barley and 
oats sown in May are reaped in October, and two crops of 
lucerne are usually taken. Sweet-smelling purple orchises, 
gentians, vetches of all colours and primulas of large size line 
the paths in June and July. 

The Amban of Sariqol, our first acquaintance in the Chinese 
official world, was not a favourable example of his kind. 
He was an opium-smoker, and shortly after our arrival at 
Kashgar was relieved of his post. I called on him my first 
morning, as I was determined to be polite in spite of his having 
practically ignored us the previous day. As I arrived only 
half an hour after the appointed time, nothing was ready, 
and the Aqsaqal and I had to stand in the waiting-room of the 
““Yamen ”’ or magistrate’s quarters amid an interested crowd 
of bottle-washers and hangers-on, while a servant hurriedly 
brought in a small table, two chairs and some uninviting- 
looking sweetmeats. Finally the Amban came in and we 
both sat down. Pale green tea tasting strongly of hot water 
was our tipple; conversation, I regret to say, somewhat 
flagged, the old Amban being obviously under the influence 
of opium while my style was cramped by the “ gallery ”’ 
standing close around and following every syllable, every 
mouthful. I was relieved to be able to escape after twenty 
minutes or so of this entertainment. 

The Amban was in better form when he returned my call 
the same afternoon, and did his best to make amends for 
his previous remissness. This encouraged us to invite him, 
his young son, the Commandant of the Garrison and his 
adjutant, and the Pir of the Maulais to tea the following after- 
noon. I found out afterwards that it was a mistake to ask 
the Pir, as the Chinese seldom sit at table with their subjects. 
D. spent the whole morning making scones and sweets, and 
the party was a great success. Conversation flourished, the 
Amban being quite talkative. He spoke in Chinese to the 
Adjutant, who translated into Turki to Nadir Beg, who 
translated into Persian to me and I into English to D. So :— 

AMBAN (to Adjutant): How old is the Taz-tai (lady) ? 

ADJUTANT (to Nadir Beg): How old is the Khanum ? 

NADIR BEG (to me): How old is the Mem-sahiba ? 

I (to D.) How old are you? 


4A CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


D. (to me): Twenty-five. 

I (to Nadir Beg): Bist o panj. 

Napir Bec (to Adjutant): Zhigima-besh. 

ApjJuTANT (to Amban) Twenty-five (whatever it is in 
Chinese !) 

Next question, by the same route, from the Amban: “ How 
is it that whereas, owing to the intense cold of this barbarous 
country, we and our subjects wear quantities of clothes right 
up to the chin, the Tai-tai wears nothing but a skirt and a 
closely-fitting garment cut low at the neck ?”’ Sensation on 
arrival of this question! After some deliberation we concoct 
a suitable reply, to the effect that the country from which the 
Tai-tai comes, Scotland, is intensely cold, far colder than the 
Chinese Pamirs, and that this country seems quite hot to her— 
hence the scantiness of her attire ! 

After tea D. visited the wives of the O.C. Garrison and the 
Adjutant. She told me afterwards that both were Tajiks and 
the Adjutant’s wife very pretty. After the visit at their house 
the ladies came back with D. to her room, and D. had to show 
them her dresses and keep them amused till a quarter past 
eight, when they finally departed. 

The last lap of our long trek, from Tashqurghan to Kashgar 
by the Chichiklik route, was in many ways the most interesting 
of all. We slept each night in Kirghiz tents which had been 
collected for us by the Beg of the neighbourhood ; this was 
arranged each day, in the Tashqurghan district, by an excel- 
lent Tajik orderly or yayieh sent with us by the Magistrate of 
Tashqurghan. Our transport was similarly arranged, ponies, 
yaks, camels or donkeys according to what was available. As 
soon as we entered the Yangi Hissar district an orderly from 
the Amban of that place met us and performed similar services. 
A tower of strength to the party was Nadir Beg, already 
mentioned as having met us at the Mintaka, who looked after 
us in a most fatherly manner and to whom we took a great 
liking. A tall, handsome, black-bearded, cheerful, energetic 
man of about forty, a good horseman and hard as nails, 
Nadir is a splendid specimen of the Tajik race; he is parti- 
cularly useful on the march in Sariqol, for he seems to have 
known every one of the people, Tajiks and Kirghiz alike, from 
their childhood up. He also has a strong sense of humour. 
I shall never forget the glee with which he told us what his 
small son had said to him on seeing Gerard Price wearing an 
oiled-silk waterproof cover over his sun-helmet. ‘‘ Daddy,” 


THE MOUNTAIN ROAD TO CATHAY 45 


said the little boy, ‘“‘ why does the Sahib wear a lamb’s tummy 
on his head ?’”’ The problem of supplies was not so difficult 
as we had expected. Milk, cream and butter were always to 
be had from the Kirghiz, but we only once or twice got eggs 
and never a chicken. At the shop of the one Hindu bunnia 
at Tashqurghan D. was able to replenish her store of 
flour, oil, dried fruits, walnuts and matches for the onward 
journey. 

On goth July we left Tashqurghan in state, our caravan now 
consisting of 17 ponies and one donkey. The Amban made 
amends for having ignored our arrival by arranging an elaborate 
chah-jan or farewell tea-drinking, combined with a parade of 
the entire garrison of Tashqurghan. This took place by the 
road-side about a mile from the bazaar. In the three-walled 
mud hut used for these ceremonies D. and I sat on the edge of a 
platform on each side of a wooden tray containing a china 
bowl of green tea for each of us, and two or three saucers of 
currants, almonds and strange Chinese confectionery tasting 
mostly of dust. On one side of the interior of the ‘‘ reception- 
pavilion ’’ sat the Amban and O.C. Tashqurghan, on the other 
G. and our Aqsaqal, while the Turki-speaking interpreter, 
standing, did his best with the Aqsaqal to keep the very sticky 
conversational ball rolling between us and the Chinese. The 
parade consisted of about thirty men and four enormous red 
-banners ; the drill was most successful, until an unexpected 
evolution had to be performed in connexion with the photo- 
graph I took of the army, which caused the O.C. to march and 
counter-march his troops over half the area under his command 
before he finally got them to face the camera. Farewells 
and much hand-shaking completed the proceedings. It may 
be mentioned here that when a Chinaman shakes hands, he 
shakes his own hand, the other person doing the same opposite 
him, both parties bowing deeply the while. 

Escaped at last from ceremonial, we revelled once more in 
an exhilarating canter over the grassy pamir ; past Tiznaf and 
Chashman, groups of tiny farmsteads, each with its willow- 
clump, standing amid wide fields of corn and rich pasture ; 
past bend after bend of the river, running clear as crystal 
through the meadows with many a fine pool, a possible trout- 
stream wickedly wasted in unstocked emptiness. 

Leaving the Sariqol valley ten miles north of Tashqurghan 
we mounted steadily for five hours and camped at 12,300 feet 
in the narrow Darshart ravine. Next day we crossed the 


46 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


K6k Moinak pass (15,400 feet) which was quite free of snow. 
There was only one serious obstacle on the way up, and that 
was within a couple of miles of the Darshart camping-place. 
The path had been entirely washed away by the stream, which 
cascaded fora hundred yards between perpendicular walls, and 
it was further partially blocked by masses of ice jutting out 
over the stream-bed. It took us, working hard, over an hour 
to get the caravan up through these narrows. Our camp that 
night, at 14,500 feet on the Chichiklik (“ speckled,” i.e. flowery) 
plateau, was the highest we had yet had. 

From Chichiklik the shortest route to Toilebulung is down 
through the Tangitar or ‘ Dark Gorge,’’ which from all accounts 
is well named, so narrow and dark is it and so rough and 
boulder-strewn the stream-bed. In the high-water season it 
is dangerous, and we preferred to go two marches round by 
the Yambulak Jilgha (valley). On the way we crossed the 
Yangi Davan (New Pass) the top of which was covered with 
wide but firm-surfaced snow-fields and proved to be 16,100 
feet above the sea. This was the highest pass we crossed 
between Srinagar and Kashgar. From the top, to our surprise 
and delight, we saw below us to the north a beautiful lake of 
purest sapphire lapped in the snowy peaks at the head of the 
Yambulak valley. This lake is not shown on any map; 
it is quite half a mile broad and when we saw it was still, 
owing to the great elevation (15,500 feet), partially covered with 
the ice of winter. 

In the Yambulak Jilgha we made our first acquaintance 
with unspoilt, off-the-beaten-track Kirghiz of the type we 
were afterwards to know and like so well. Five miles down 
from the pass, in the middle of one of the sudden but short- 
lived summer blizzards of the Pamirs, we found the headman 
of the little community, Ibrahim Beg, and his son Juma waiting 
for us with tea and a small carpet spread out on the wet ground. 
Politeness dictated a halt of at least five minutes while we 
made a pretence of sipping the salty tea (the Kirghiz cannot 
afford sugar in their tea, so they use salt, though they much 
prefer their tea sweet) and felt the snowflakes insinuating 
themselves down our necks. Two miles further down at a 
height of 12,650 feet, we came to the ag-ois, pitched on either 
side of the brawling stream in a sheltered bend of the valley. 
The afternoon sun now shone strongly again, and as we passed 
the first huts its rays illumined exquisitely an idyllic scene— 
three or four Kirghiz girls in their quaint dresses and turbans 





UNMAPPED LAKE AT HEAD OF YAMBULAK VALLEY; SPURS OF MUZ TAGH ATA 
IN BACKGROUND 


Nah Wei ve 


aN : BY ee, ny er 
eat ry ; 

we PGs 
yf my) wt, : 





THE MOUNTAIN ROAD TO CATHAY 47 


milking the sheep and goats by the water’s edge while the 
men and children looked on. 

Next morning we awoke to find a brilliant sun shining on 
a cheerful scene composed of yaks, yak-calves, donkeys, ponies, 
sheep, goats, curly-headed children, rainbow-clothed white- 
turbaned women and one to two shaggy men (the rest were 
still in bed), against a background of fat mushroom-like 
ag-ois, foaming river and steep green hill-side. I had decided 
to halt a day at this pleasant spot, partly to give the caravan 
a rest, partly in order toreconnoitre on foot a pass called the 
Merki Davan by which I hoped to cross into the upper Qara- 
tash valley and thus gain access to one of the blank patches 
on the map which Sir Aurel Stein had advised me to explore. 
To cut a long story short, Gerard Price and I, assisted by 
Juma Beg with his men and yaks, reached a height of 16,500 
feet on a snowy spur, from which point we could see that the 
“pass ”’ was quite out of the question for our caravan. It was 
nothing but a lofty ridge of rock at least 17,000 feet high, deep 
in snow even on the south side and defended also by steep 
ice-slopes. 

Meanwhile D. passed a strenuous but amusing day with the 
Kirghiz ladies, all of whom clamoured (mostly quite unneces- 
sarily) for medical treatment and seemed to appreciate presents 
of quinine tabloids and castor oil even more than the beads 
and other small gifts which D. had brought for them. At any 
rate, she made herself very popular, for next morning when 
we marched down the valley their farewells were most affec- 
tionate and they walked at her stirrup quite a long way down 
the valley. One of the younger ones was perfectly lovely ; 
the coloured sketch of her which was done by D. on this 
occasion and is reproduced as a frontispiece to this book does 
not flatter her unduly. As a rule, however, the faces of 
the Kirghiz women, though broad-browed and pleasing, are 
too flat for beauty. 

As we filed down the Yambulak valley it became ever 
narrower and its sides higher and steeper. The profusion 
of wild flowers was a revelation ; anemones, primulas, king- 
cups, columbines, antirrhinums, campanulas, asphodel and 
many others of which we did not know the names grew in 
masses, especially in places where the sheep and goats could 
not get at them. Cascades of wild roses grew out of every 


1 For an account of this climb, see ‘‘ Geographical Journal,’? Novem- 
ber, 1925, p. 388. 


48 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


cranny in the perpendicular rocks. Among the very few 
people we saw was an interesting figure; this was the Qazi 
or native judge of Koserab on his way with three or four 
men on horses to Tashqurghan, whither he had been sum- 
moned by the Amban to try cases according to the Shar’iat 
or law of the Qur’an. The party forded the river just before 
meeting us, a picturesque sight ; the white-bearded old village 
judge, with his book of dala’il (precedents) and his Qur’an 
wrapped in a cloth under his arm, rode straight-backed and 
vigorous at the head of his following. 

That night (14th July) we camped in wild and grand, but 
less green and flowery, country at Toilebulung, the winter 
headquarters of the Yambulak Kirghiz who grow their crops 
there and bury their dead in curious little domed mausolea. 
The elevation was only 9,650 feet, the first time we had been 
down to four figures since Gircha in the Hunza valley, sixteen 
days before. We mopped our brows and complained of the 
stuffiness of these low-lying valleys, until some one pointed 
out that we were still far higher up than the most elevated 
Indian hill-station. 

Next day we bid adieu to the Yambulak Kirghiz with many 
invitations and promises to visit them again one day. I had 
already given old Ibrahim Beg with much ceremony an official 
present in the shape of a watch. Just before leaving I dis- 
covered that he had already disposed of it to Hafiz for five 
taels (about 15s.). Asit was only worth about four taels, and 
as I wanted to impress upon the Kirghiz the enormity of the 
insult to the British Empire, I publicly reproved Ibrahim, took 
back the watch, made him repay the 5 taels to Hafiz, and then 
gave him a cash present of 4 taels instead of the watch. I 
then, supposing that Hafiz really wanted a watch to tell the 
time by, sold him the Government watch for 4 taels. The 
following day one of the other orderlies told me that Ibrahim 
had bought back the watch from Hafiz for 44 taels, evidently 
thinking that as there was such a to-do about the article, it 
must be a good investment. It was not till after we reached 
Kashgar, however, that I heard the sequel from Harding, 
who passed Yambulak two days after us. This was that 
Ibrahim Beg changed his mind once more about the watch and 
sold it to Harding’s orderly for 34 taels! Turkis and Kirghiz 
alike are born traders and would sell the noses off their faces 
if they could get good money for them. 

On each of the next two days we crossed passes, the Ter 


THE MOUNTAIN ROAD TO CATHAY 49 


Art (13,340 feet) and the Kashka Su (12,900 feet) respectively. 
They were very much alike; winding ravines among high 
rocky hills; a glen thickly carpeted with alpine flowers, 
narrowing and steepening as we ascended it; a last back- 
breaking ascent, and then the col, a rounded ridge with out- 
cropping rocks and turf enamelled with tiny blooms. We 
lingered long on the Kashka Su; we had been travelling over 
or among mountains for such an age—a golden age—that it was 
difficult to believe that we were crossing our very last pass. 
From the summit we looked with interest towards the north, 
hoping to see the plains of Kashgaria spread out below us, 
but as far as the eye could reach lay a jumble of green ridges 
surmounted here and there by a snow-flecked crag and deeply 
seamed by silver torrents, the music of which floated gently 
up tous. Behind us to the south and south-east a magnificent 
array of giant peaks, the little-known mountains of the Upper 
Yarkand River valley, bounded the horizon with walls of 
cliff and glacier. 

Descending steeply for 1,500 feet over meadows covered 
with asphodel we found a small tent pitched for us and a way- 
side tea-drinking prepared by a delightful old Father Christmas 
of a Beg called Mirza Ahmad Beg of Taumtara, a side-glen 
to the north-west. We greeted our host in the tent and were at 
once confronted with a mountainous collation of freshly- 
killed and exceedingly tough mutton, leather-like bread, a 
kind of oily and very indigestible pastry and tea with salt in 
it. Being fortunately left to ourselves with this repast, we 
were able, ostensibly at any rate, to do our duty as guests by 
disposing of quite a large quantity of the food ; this we effected 
by the simple process of eating our own sandwiches and putting 
the Beg’s viands in the haversack thus emptied. Meanwhile 
the Beg’s wife and sister, who must have heard of D.’s fame 
from Yambulak, were round the corner in gorgeous robes and 
exaggerated Kirghiz head-dresses, awaiting their opportunity. 
As we emerged from the tent after our deceitful meal, we saw 
them in all their glory crossing the stream on their ponies, 
a picturesque sight. A lengthy interview with D. in the 
tent followed, while I talked to the old Beg outside. When 
the ladies had at last finished sampling D.’s medicinal stock 
and wisdom (for that is what they had really come after), we 
continued on our way. D. said that they had been rather 
heavy on hand and had no small-talk; they gave her the 
impression of being mazlum-kishis indeed (I may explain that 

4 


50 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


mazlum-kishi is the Turki for ““ woman” and means literally 
‘“‘ oppressed person ’’). However, small-talk is not so neces- 
sary when you have plenty of diseases, as these oppressed ones 
apparently had, and D. scored another social success. A 
couple of hours later we were settling into comfortable aq-ois 
provided by Father Christmas on a meadow by the Kinkol 
River. Near by grew many mushrooms, arare treat. On the 
mountain-sides all round we could hear the red-legged par- 
tridges calling ; I accepted their invitation, anda brace of them 
soon graced our camp larder. I may mention that between 
Yambulak and Kichik Karaul not a day passed that we did 
not bag partridges or hares, or both, for the pot. Next day 
I had a misfortune in the shape of a nasty fall with the black 
horse, which came down suddenly at the trot and threw me on 
to a sharp stone, which bruised my thigh somewhat severely, 
causing me to faint twice with the pain. I rode the rest of 
the march (and the two following days) on a yak or pony with 
my leg in a sling, neither a comfortable nor a rapid mode of 
progression. This delayed us very much and we took a day 
longer to get into Kashgar than we would otherwise have done. 

Further down the valley became very wild and rugged, and 
raging glacier-torrents from the Qizil Tagh or “‘ Red Moun- 
tains’ on our right had to be crossed as well as the main stream. 
Here, at a place called Sasik Tika, we noticed a single poverty- 
stricken ag-ot. I distinctly remember commenting on the 
sinister look of the valley at this point. I was reminded of this 
the following spring, when I was present at the trial by the 
Magistrate of Yangi Hissar of the Kirghiz to whom the agq-o1 
belonged for the murder of a Chitrali traveller. 

Soon after leaving the next camp, Toqoi Bashi, the first 
real trees we had seen since Tashqurghan appeared, and after 
that we were never without some. Short, thick-set trees they 
were, with fluted bark and small, pointed leaves ; further down 
the valley some of them attained great size. We did not then 
know to what species they belonged, but they afterwards 
became very familiar. They were the desert poplar (P. 
varifolia, Turki toghraq) which is the characteristic tree of the 
Tarim Basin and, outside the oases, the only one that grows 
at all freely. 

That night we camped at the first settled village of Kash- 
garia, Kichik Qaraul or “‘ The Little Fort’”’ It was pleasant 
to sit on the grass and munch juicy melons, nectarines and 

1For an account of this trial, see Ch. X. 


THE MOUNTAIN ROAD TO CATHAY 51 


peaches while we watched the sunset glow fade upon rich 
fields of maize and peas, on cosy little farms nestling under 
clumps of tall bushy poplars and on warm yellow river-bluffs 
along the foot of which springs of pure water bubbled up 
among the meadows. 

By mid-day on 18th July the hills on either side of us 
had sunk to insignificance and we came to a place where the 
Chinese of former days had built, more suo, a wall across the 
open valley, a wall the ends of which were quite in the air, 
and which could never have been defensible, even when 
first built. Here, at a small medieval-looking fort called 
Chong (Big) Qaraul, an amiable Chinese Muhammadan 
garaulcht or barrier officer fed us on melons and apricots on a 
platform under spreading planes. Before us extended a vast 
indefinite expanse, pale yellow and brown with wide shadows 
lying on it where the oases were ; nearest to us, a long line of 
trees some ten miles away marked Ighiz Yar, our halting-place. 
We thrilled to think that we were looking upon the great plain 
of Central Asia, the mighty belt of oasis-fringed desert which 
stretches for 2,000 miles from Kashgar to the mountains of 
Inner Mongolia. 

Ighiz Yar (‘The High Bluff’’) proved to be a pleasant 
stretch of cultivated land dotted with farmsteads of mud-brick 
joined by leafy lanes down which ran brooks of clear water. 
Except that the soil was obviously far more fertile—the loess 
of Kashgaria is as a matter of fact one of the most fertile soils 
in the world—it might have been a Persian village. Our 
lodging proved to be a small house near the lower end of the 
oasis, consisting of one very large room with a raised floor and 
a large square skylight, and a small windowless room opening 
out of it. There was a third chamber, but this was not avail- 
able as the entire family moved into it when we took possession ; 
as their ingress and egress was through the big room, the 
privacy of the latter left something to be desired. Our two 
rooms opened on to a courtyard in which (as the house boasted 
no garden) our retinue took up their quarters; they also 
opened on a cow-byre. ~ 

Harding caught us up at Ighiz Yar, and next day all four 
of us went on together to Yangi Hissar. The (Hindu) British 
Aqsaqal of the place, a wealthy Shikarpuri banker called 
Ratan Chand, sent a smart buggy to meet us half-way, and in 
this D. and I, drawn by the fieriest of Ferghana stallions, 
performed the rest of the march in what must surely have 


52 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


been record time. Gerard’s pony also tried to break the flat- 
racing record for Kashgaria on this stretch, with the result that 
four miles out of Suget we came up with G. standing ruefully 
by his steed and holding half of one of its hoofs in his hand ; it 
had put its foot into a hole, split its hoof, crossed its legs and 
turned head over heels all at once, it appeared. Fortunately 
the ground was soft. In a leafy suburb of Yangi Hissar we 
were welcomed with mounds of toffee, melons of vast size and 
many loyal speeches by the Indian Shylocks of the town. 
Further on the District Magistrate and the Commandant of 
the Garrison met us and we went through the formality of the 
official tea-drinking. The Amban was a complete contrast to 
him of Tashqurghan ; he was a stout, clean-shaven, intelligent 
type of person, rather like a medieval monk. He had once, 
he told us, been a student at the Peking law-schools and 
had served as a judge somewhere on the coast. The Celestial 
effect of his black satin coat and his cream-coloured silk skirt 
covering close-fitting white calico trousers was somewhat 
spoilt by a bowler hat which had seen better days. 

Escorted by the local soldiery we moved slowly in procession 
into Yangi Hissar. It was a relief to enter the cool, dustless 
streets of the bazaars, which here are not domed as in Persia 
but roofed after a fashion with sacking and wattles. The 
shops struck us as neater and cleaner than those of India 
or Persia, the counters of the many food-shops, fruiterers, 
butchers, etc., being well scrubbed. The Chinese shops are 
particularly neat and tidy, and reminded one of village 
“general shops ’’ at home. 

Hardly had we arrived at the garden of the empty Swedish 
Mission bungalow when the Amban and Commandant, 
most courteously according to Chinese ideas, came to call. 
Fortunately the Aqsaqal had prepared tea and a noble spread 
of fruit and sweets. During this function we were treated to 
a little bit of Chinese servants’ manners which very nearly 
upset our equilibrium for good and all. When he sat down, 
the Amban took off his bowler and handed it to his servant, 
who stood behind his chair. The servant, who already wore 
a decrepit Homburg, took the Amban’s hat and coolly, 
as if it were the most natural thing to do with it, clapped it on 
top of his own! During the rest of the meal we all had to 
keep our eyes firmly averted from the two-hatted servant, 
for anything more ludicrous than the sight of his solemn, 
old-family-butler face surmounted by the Amban’s seedy 


THE MOUNTAIN ROAD TO CATHAY 53 


bowler and his own archaic Homburg, one on top of the other, 
cannot be imagined. 

We thought we were going to have the comfortable Mission 
house to sleep in, but it appeared that owing to a mistake 
the keys had not been obtained from the missionaries at 
Kashgar, who are kind enough always to put the house at the 
disposal of the Consulate if required. Nothing else having 
been arranged we had eventually to doss down in a small 
farm-house on the outskirts of the town. It was not very 
confortable, but we made the best of it and by half-past six 
I was able to change my clothes and drive round to call on 
the Amban, the Commandant and an ex-Amban who was 
still living in the town. In almost every district we visited in 
our subsequent wanderings we found one, sometimes two, 
ex-Ambans. Apparently it takes months, even years, to hand 
over charge, owing presumably to the mess in which each Magis- 
trate gets his work, particularly the financial side of it. So 
much so, I believe, that it is the custom in China for his friends 
to congratulate an official formally on the successful handing 
over of his charge. Next day before proceeding on our journey, 
we attended an official lunch at the Yamen, where we were 
received with much pomp and ceremony including a salute 
of three ‘‘ guns,” or rather bangs from small mortars stuck 
upright in the ground. The decorations of the room in which 
we lunched, though faded, were in excellent taste ; red chairs 
covered with black silk ; a few panels of decorative Chinese 
writing ; windows of a kind of fretwork in chaste geometrical 
designs, with ancient lace instead of glass, and little else in the 
room beyond the table. A Chinese feast is so long and com- 
plicated an affair that it merits more detailed description than 
I can afford it here, and I must therefore refer the reader to a 
later chapter.1 Suffice it to say that we were as much im- 
pressed by the courtesy and considerateness of our host as 
by the fearful tinned and dried delicacies from China Proper 
such as shark’s fin, sea-slugs, fish-entrails, seaweed and bam- 
boo-root on which he appeared to pride himself most. All 
these plats seemed to us to consist of substances either glutin- 
ous or messy, or both, and to taste of nothing in particular. 

Wayside tea-drinkings similar to those of the day before, 
but in the reverse order, heralded our departure from Yangi 
Hissarin a landau kindly sent out for us from Kashgar by the 
Taoyin. Twenty miles of perfectly flat country, alternating 

1See Ch. VI, pp. 82-84. 


54 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA . 


between rich cultivation and howling wilderness in the true 
Central Asian fashion, brought us to the village of Yapchan 
just before dark. Here we were somewhat depressed to find 
that instead of the house and garden we had been promised, 
we were to spend the night in two or three tiny, unventilated 
rooms in a very small and dirty public seraz. It appeared 
that the owner of the house at which Europeans usually stay 
had inconsiderately died just before our arrival. Half the 
loafers and children of Yapchan enjoyed an excellent close- 
up view of the three of us unpacking, dining and going to bed. 
Next morning D. said that she had not been by any means the 
only occupant of her room; she counted, I think, seventy-one 
others. 

On 21st July, 1922, we rode and drove the last 24 miles to 
Old Kashgar. Some three miles out we were met with an elabor- 
ate wayside reception by Mr. Fitzmaurice, the outgoing Vice- 
Consul who had been holding charge of the Consulate General 
pending my arrival, supported by the office staff, the Aqsaqal 
and other British subjects of Kashgar. A mile further and 
we were being greeted at a pleasant pavilion among willow- 
groves by the Chinese officials, representatives of the Swedish 
missionaries and the Russian colony, and others. Here we 
were entertained at an excellently-cooked and almost European 
lunch by the friendly and genial Taoyin of Kashgar, after which 
we listened and replied to speeches of welcome in various 
unfamiliar tongues. A long and dusty procession through ~ 
bazaars and surburbs brought us late in the afternoon to 
“ Chini Bagh,” by which name the British Consulate General is 
locally known. 

Our journey from Srinagar had occupied 49 days from 
Srinagar, including eight days’ halts on the road. We could 
have done it easily enough in, say, forty-two, but we should 
not have enjoyed it nearly as much as we did. Including the 
value of stores consumed on the road, but not the wages and 
travelling allowances of private servants and Government order- 
lies, the cost according to the careful accounts I kept worked 
out at {120 for the three of us—much less than I had expected. 


aVOHSVHA GIO AO STIVM AHL 





¥ 
iy ah “ 
ip 4 py 





CHAPTE’R V 
KASHGAR 
() c= first impression on arrival at the Consulate 


Generalis of greenery and shade ; of limes and acacias, 

willows and planes and fruit-trees of all kinds ; of tall 
bushy poplars rising like a wall against the sun, and slender 
poplars with little white-backed leaves which flutter silently 
in the faintest breeze like the waving of fairies’ hands; of 
confused gardens on three different levels, with an orchard 
and a vine-pergola and a little meadow and a dense thicket 
of Babylonian willow and a pond with lotuses in it and a 
carved Chinese summer-house, all mixed up with trees and an 
amazing riot of flowers and vegetables. The house itself is 
comfortable enough, expecially after the long pilgrimage over 
mountain and desert which leads to it; the bedrooms are 
perhaps a little inadequate, according to English ideas at any 
rate, compared with the magnificent hall, dining-room and 
drawing-room, but the latter certainly impress Chinese and 
Russian visitors with the dignity of the British Empire. So 
does the imposing gateway flanked by a long line of clerks’ 
quarters on one side and by the office buildings on the other. 
But the glory of the Consulate-General is undoubtedly the 
terrace along its north-western side. The approaches and 
south-eastern facade of the house afford no inkling of the view 
of which a first glimpse is obtained through the French win- 
dows of the drawing-room. Stepping out on to the long 
terrace with its sundial and parapet of sun-dried brick, you 
find yourself on the top of a low bluff looking out over the wide 
shallow valley of the Tiimen River. Immediately below you 
are the trees of the lower garden and its enclosing wall; then 
comes a narrow road-way with country people going to and 
from the busy town all day long ; beyond it a patch of melon- 
beds and willow-fringed rice-fields, into which from the left 
juts a promontory of river-bluffs crowned with houses and 

59 


56 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


trees and at the very tip a small mud-built shrine. Then 
comes the winding river, brimming in summer with the melted 
snows of the Tien Shan. On the further bank more rice-fields 
and a line of loess bluffs, below which here and there nestle 
cottages and water-mills buried in willows; beyond, trees and 
farmsteads stretch away to the northern edge of the oasis five 
miles distant, where in stark contrast a great sweep of gravelly 
desert slopes down from the curiously-corrugated foothills of 
the Tien Shan. 

What a joy that terrace was! The bedrooms all opened 
on it, or ona small verandah just above, in which I slept in all 
but the coldest weather. How pleasant it was, as one sipped 
one’s early tea, to watch the sunlight flood the valley and 
listen to the various noises of the morning as they floated 
up from field and homestead, the harsher ones softened by 
distance ; birds twittering, cocks crowing, women calling to one 
another, donkeys braying, boys singing, dogs barking, cart- 
wheels creaking and, on Wednesdays, the musical wailings of 
women worshippers at the little shrine of Sultan Buwam down 
by the river; best of all, that peculiar sound which for us 
seemed to hold the very essence of Kashgar’s charm—the note 
of the millers’ horns as they called to their customers to bring 
their grain for grinding. It is the horn of a mountain-goat that 
the miller of Kashgar winds for this purpose, and to us the 
gentle sounds which floated up in the morning from the little 
mills by the river were as the 


Horns of Elf-land faintly blowing. 


In the evening, too, the terrace was a favourite haunt, when the 
river-bluffs opposite glowed with the sun’s last rays and pearly 
clouds floated over the far-off Tien Shan ; when the patter of 
ponies’ and donkeys’ feet and the voices of the villagers riding 
home from market came up from the road beyond the garden, 
and the call to prayer echoed along the valley from the mosques 
of the city. But if the view from the terrace was wide, that 
from the roof of the tower was, or could be, immense. Per- 
fectly clear weather is, alas, rare in Kashgaria owing to the 
fine loess dust which almost always slightly thickens the atmo- 
sphere; but at two seasons of the year, early summer and late 
autumn, the atmosphere in the mornings could be as clear as 
crystal and the farthest mountains plainly visible from the 
top of the tower. And what a panorama they made, in 
November at least when the leaves were off the trees which 


KASHGAR 57 


partially masked them! From south right round by west 
to north-east they stretched, the walls that screen Kashgar 
from the rest of Asia. To the north indeed the snowless outer 
ranges of the Tien Shan were not impressive, and higher peaks 
could only here and there be espied beyond. But right across 
the south-western horizon, sixty to a hundred miles away, 
stretched a mighty rampart of eternal snow, here irregular 
and serrated, there smooth-topped and broken only by the 
very highest massifs, which stood out like the marble bastions 
of a Citadel of the Gods. It was the Kashgar Range, a hun- 
dred miles long and from 18,000 to more than 25,000 feet 
high, which walls off the lofty table-land of the Pamirs from 
deserts and oases of the Tarim Basin. 

It is difficult to analyse the fascination of lofty mountains 
seen afar off; so much depends upon their associations. 
Whether consciously or unconsciously, the climber thinks 
of the arétes and chimneys and ice-slopes that await his 
scaling; the naturalist, the geologist and the surveyor of 
the new and varied world they offer, and the stalker of the 
mighty heads that surely lurk among their inmost sanc- 
tuaries. But to none do “the Hills’? mean more than to 
Western dwellers in Eastern lands; and not only to those 
for whom they are a relief from the soul-destroying monotony 
of the plains, but also to all those who have heard the call 
of the Desert. To one who knows them both, the limitless 
freedom of desert horizons is the more exhilarating by contrast 
with the narrow paths of the mountains, while the springs and 
streams, the woods and flowers and grassy shoulders of the 
hills are the lovelier for the memory of arid wastes and empty 
sun-baked water-courses. So it was that for us, who knew 
so well the parched lands of Baluchistan and south-eastern 
Persia, much of the glamour of that distant line of snows lay 
in the promise they held of flowery meadows and deep glens 
full of greenery for our exploring, of “ fresh woods and pas- 
tures new’”’ tucked away among their crags and splintered 
ridges. " 

But the enchantment of the Kashgarian landscape is not 
solely of the kind that is lent by distance. The soil is of the 
curious formation known as ‘‘loess,’’ which consists of nothing 
but fine desert dust, deposited from the air and firmly caked in 
layers of varying thickness. Loess has two peculiarities : 
one is its extraordinary fertility, which is such that you 
have only to poke a stick into the ground and water it regularly, 


58 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


and it will grow into a full-sized tree ; the other is its tendency 
to vertical rather than horizontal cleavage. The result of the 
first is that wherever water can be brought (the climate of the 
plains is almost rainless, but water from the encircling mountains 
is plentiful for irrigation) the land is closely cultivated, willows 
and poplars line every water-channel and the farmsteads are 
buried in foliage. The second peculiarity results in the land- 
scape being broken up most picturesquely in the neighbourhood 
of the many rivers by perpendicular cliffs or river-bluffs, 
seldom more than thirty or forty feet high, but bold of outline 
and of a rich yellowish hue, with farmsteads perched on top 
of them and mills nestling below, trees and crops growing to 
their very edge and greenery in every cranny. 

The whole aspect of the better-watered parts of the oases 
is one of immemorial peace and contentment and of a civiliza- 
tion, such as it is, that has persisted unchanged for centuries. 
Nowhere could be found a more striking illustration of the 
strength and permanence of a rural population with its roots 
deep in the soil, especially when that soil can only be made 
productive by means of an elaborate system of irrigation. 
Politically, Kashgaria has had as stormy a history as any 
country in the world. During the last 2,000 years or a little 
more the Chinese have conquered it five times, and four times 
they have been evicted from it. The total period of their 
occupations up to date only amounts to about 425 years; 
during the remainder of the time Kashgaria has been the prey 
of one conquering people after another. Huns, Yiiehchih or 
Indo-Scythians, Hephthalites or White Huns, Tibetans, Uigur 
Turks, Qara Khitai,1 Mongols under Chingiz Khan, Dzungar 
Mongols and Turkis from the Transcaspian Khanates have all 
won and lost it in turn. Apart from these more cataclysmic 
changes, civil war has at various periods raged between the 
larger towns, Kashgar, Yarkand, Khotan and Aqsu. Yet 
down through the ages generation after generation of peasants 
have yearly tapped the summer floods from the mountains 
and have raised their crops of wheat and barley, rice and millet, 
cotton and maize and melons, while wave after wave of con- 
quest has rolled over their head. Whenever any conqueror 
or tyrant has interfered overmuch with the cultivator, his 
greed has been his downfall. A striking recent example of this 


1 The twelfth-century conquerors who gave their name to ‘‘ Cathay.’’ 
Stein, “‘ Journal of the Royal Geographical Society,” June, 1925, 
P- 495. 


KASHGAR 59 


was in the case of Yakub Beg, the Khokandi adventurer who led 
a successful revolt against the Chinese in 1865 and ruled the 
country after the traditional manner of the Oriental despot for 
the next twelve years. Underhistyranny, according to Stein,} 
the population of some of the oases sank to one-half of what it 
had once been, and the cultivated area everywhere shrank 
greatly. The result was that when in 1877 the Chinese came 
back in force, they were welcomed with open arms by the people 
and the power of the self-styled “‘ Amir ”’ collapsed like a house 
of cards. 

Nothing is more impressive than the persistence with which 
through the ages China has enforced her claim to Eastern Tur- 
kistan. Whether to safeguard the transcontinental “ Silk 
Road,” which in the palmy days of Imperial Rome carried 
the produce of her looms to the Atlantic shore, or whether 
because she must extend her effective occupation to the 
westernmost mountain barriers of her empire on pain of losing 
their protection, China has always returned to the charge, 
even after a thousand years. Despite the gigantic distances 
involved—for even now, with several hundred miles of railway 
to help, the journey from Peking to Kashgar takes five months 
—her armies have time after time pushed westward; the 
might of the Emperors of Cathay has leant up against the 
flimsy structures of one Central Asian power after another and 
has flattened them out as though they had never been. 

Since their last re-conquest in 1877 the Chinese have 
governed Sinkiang, the “New Dominion,” from Urumchi 
fifty marches north-east of Kashgar. Standing on the site of 
Bishbaligh, one of the chief centres of the Uigur civilization 
in the Middle Ages, Urumchi commands the vital Kansu- 
Shensi corridor leading from Central Asia into the heart of 
Inner China. Cut off from the rest of China, except for this 
one long trail, by the vast extent of the Mongolian Desert, 
where a man may travel for fifty days without meeting a single 
human being, the New Dominion has recked little of the civil 
wars which during the last twelve years have rent the mother- 
country from end to end. The only effect on Sinkiang of the 
Revolution of r91r and the consequent weakening of the 
Central Government has been to permit a Governor of out- 
standing ability to establish himself as the virtually independent 
ruler of Chinese Central Asia. The result of Yang Tseng- 
hsin’s twelve years’ rule has been that the military and other 


1** Journal of the Royal Geographical Society,’ June, 1925, p. 498. 


60 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


brigands who infest Kansu, Szechwan and other western 
provinces are unknown in Sinkiang, which a European may 
traverse unescorted and unmolested from end to end. Con- 
ditions, indeed, vary in the different districts according to 
the energy and efficiency of the Magistrate of the time. 
Like crows round a corpse, thieves flock to a district to which 
an opium-smoker has been appointed, while they desert that 
of an energetic ‘“‘Amban”’ as rats a sinking ship; but in 
general it may be said that life is safe everywhere and property 
as secure as in most European countries. Moreover, to 
Governor Yang and his subordinates must be given credit 
for what is probably a higher degree of prosperity and content- 
ment than the country has known, at any rate since ancient 
times. They do not make the mistake of crippling agriculture 
by oppression and otherwise killing the goose that lays the 
golden eggs. They come of a race which has two thousand 
years of administrative experience behind it, and knows well 
how to base its power upon the strong rock of agricultural 
prosperity. Oppression exists, but it is chiefly by Turki 
minor officials, and the District Magistrate is usually there 
to appeal to in case of need. The predecessors of these same 
““Begs’”’ were far more rapacious in the days of Yakub Beg, 
who was of the same class and type as themselves. Then, 
there was no appeal. Instances of serious and prolonged op- 
pression by Chinese officials under the present régime are rare. 
A notable case in our time was that of General Ma Titai, the 
history of whose crimes and of the doom which avenged them 
will be found in a later chapter. With the exception of land 
revenue, the taxation is almost entirely indirect ; the incidence 
of the former is light, even taking into consideration the 
varying proportions over-collected by the Ambans for their 
own pockets ; while the taxes on internal trade are farmed by 
Turki contractors who, like the Begs, dare not go too far in the 
mulcting of their own fellow-countrymen. At any rate, the 
fact remains that the population is steadily increasing and 
every year more and more land is being taken into cultivation. 
We saw the process going on in several of the districts we visited, 
notably in Maralbashi, Posgam and Karakash.! District 

1 Already the Merket subdivision of the Maralbashi district, two 
marches down-river from Yarkand, is too big to be administered 
effectively from Maralbashi, and there is talk of its being erected into 
a separate third-class district, just as was done a few years ago with 


Posgam when it was separated from Karghalik, a new bazaar built 
and a third-class magistrate installed. 


KASHGAR ~- 61 


Magistrates who succeed in bringing a certain area of new land 
into cultivation—35,000 mu or about 6,000 acres, I believe— 
receive a good mark at headquarters and are singled out for 
promotion. This results occasionally in money being wasted 
on canals along which the water will not run—‘‘ Amban’s 
Follies’? we used to call them—but it meant that ambitious 
Magistrates encourage the spread of cultivation in every way 
and see that new settlers are left alone by the tax-gatherer. 
For three years a settler on new ground pays no revenue, and 
half-rates for the next three. 

It is true that moral and intellectual progress does not 
existin Kashgaria. There are no schools except those attached 
to mosques, at which nothing is taught by the mullas but 
reading, writing and the Qur’an. By means of a strict censor- 
ship not only are books and all written or printed matter dealing 
with current events kept from the hands of Chinese and 
Muhammadans alike, but the dissemination in writing of news 
or of any ideas whatever among the inhabitants is effectually 
prevented. All this, no doubt, is highly reprehensible from 
the point of view of the democratic idealist. But after all, if 
the greatest happiness of the greatest number is the summum 
bonum for any community, as some people are still old- 
fashioned enough to believe, there is a good deal to be said for 
it. At any rate, in this twentieth-century world of hustle and 
the Yellow Press, of merciless competition and all-pervading 
publicity, one may be forgiven for hoping—selfishly, perhaps 
—that a corner of the earth may long be spared in which a 
peaceful, contented, simple, lovable and by no means un- 
civilized population exists without motor-cars or cinemas, 
without newspapers or telephones, without broadcasting or 
advertisements, without a mile of railway or even of metalled 
road, a land steeped in the Middle Ages, picturesque and quaint 
almost beyond belief—truly an Arcady of Cathay. 

Of our life and work at Kashgar the part that D. and I 
liked best was the touring, of which we had plenty. Though 
the trade between India and Chinese Turkistan is strictly 
limited by the great length and difficulty of the Leh route, 
the number of Indians connected with it who are permanently 
or temporarily resident in the oases of the Tarim Basin is 
surprising. At Yarkand alone there are usually between I00 
and 150 Hindu traders, most of them representing firms in one 
or other of two Punjab towns, Amritsar and Hoshiarpur. 
Sindhi money-lenders from Shikarpur ply their trade at Yangi 


62 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


Hissar, Karghalik and elsewhere. Besides these there are 
colonies of Muhammadan British subjects in nearly all the 
districts, some of them purely agricultural immigrants from 
Northern Kashmir and Chitral, others (and these among the 
wealthiest in the land) merchants engaged in the Indian 
trade. Many of the latter have married Turki wives, own 
land and houses, and have a considerable stake in the country. 
All these people cling tenaciously to their British nationality 
and their right to the protection of the Consular court, which 
under the existing arrangement exercises extra-territorial 
jurisdiction over them. This is not the place to discuss the 
ins and outs of the extra-territorial system in general or the 
details of its application to Kashgaria. Suffice it to say that 
the Consul-General is kept very busy maintaining order 
among the British subjects of the various districts, settling 
their civil disputes, trying cases brought against them by 
Chinese subjects, helping them to obtain redress in the Chinese 
courts and generally watching over their interests. Al- 
though theoretically the Consul-General deals only with the 
Taoyin, the representative of the Governor of the province, 
in practice very few cases, and those only the most important 
ones of an “international’”’ nature, are heard at Kashgar. 
The Consul-General works informally with the District Magis- 
trates, either directly or through the British agents (“‘ Aqsa- 
qals ’’) in the various towns. As the majority of the British 
subjects live from five to twenty marches from Kashgar, 
it can readily be understood that the most effective and ex- 
peditious method of dealing with their cases is regularly to 
visit the districts in which they reside and settle matters on 
the spot, either with the District Magistrates or among the 
British subjects themselves as the case may be. In fact, it 
was only by travelling once a year down each of the two 
main roads, Yarkand-Khotan-Keriya and Maralbashi-Aksu- 
Kucha, with halts varying from one to fifteen days at each 
district headquarters and with an occasional extra visit to 
the chief centre of the Indian trade, Yarkand, that I found it 
possible to keep in touch with the Indian colonies and (what 
is no less important) on friendly personal terms with the 
Chinese magistrates. Nearly half of the two and a quarter 
years we were in Kashgaria was thus spent on tour, and D. 
and I covered, apart from holiday jaunts to the hills, some 
3,400 miles, almost entirely on horseback with our baggage 
in Peking carts or on the back of pack-ponies. There was 


KASHGAR 63 


no difficulty or hardship about any of these journeys among 
the oases of the plains, for, apart from being looked after 
very well by our own people, we were not only assisted and 
escorted everywhere we went by the local authorities, but 
actually treated as guests, having frequently the utmost 
difficulty in getting payment accepted for the loads of flour, 
vegetables, rice, fruit, fodder for horses, etc., which met 
us at every town. Either the Chinese official rest-house or 
_ a private residence was placed at our disposal at most stages, 
though in the larger centres the Aqsaqal or some other influen- 
tial British subject usually insisted on putting us up. Escorts 
were provided everywhere, whether we wanted them or not ; 
the troops, at any rate down the Khotan road, were invariably 
turned out in our honour. Last but not least, at every town 
we visited except two or three in the remoter northern districts, 
the officials not only came out to meet usand to see us off with 
the peculiar roadside tea-drinkings which are de rigueur on 
these occasions, but also gave special dinner-parties in our 
honour. As will be seen later, these attentions were some- 
times rather embarrassing than otherwise, but one could not 
help appreciating the goodwill that prompted them. Alto- 
gether, the friendliness and courtesy with which we were 
received practically everywhere by the Chinese authorities 
were most cheering, and testified eloquently to the popularity 
and respect gained for the British Consulate-General by its 
founder, Sir George Macartney, as a result of twenty-eight 
years of able and single-minded service. 

Life at Kashgar itself was physically less strenuous than 
on tour, when work and long marches had to be combined, 
but I was always kept very busy, especially after I was deprived 
in July, 1923, of the valuable assistance of the Vice-Consul, 
Mr. Harding, whose post was afterwards left vacant. The 
number of different languages in which we carried on our 
work indicates the variety and interest of our daily routine, 
On any one of our files there might be, and often were, papers 
in six different languages: English, Chinese, Turki, Persian, 
Urdu and Russian. As for the ‘‘ spoken word,” Turki, Urdu 
and Persian were all in regular use with visitors, litigants 
and witnesses during office hours. Some of the more cosmo- 
politan of my friends, indeed, used all these three languages 
in the same conversation, switching from one to the other in a 
most disconcerting manner. The Consulate staff, whom I 
must now introduce, were as follows: the Mir Munshi (Head 


~ 


64 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


Clerk), Khan Sahib Muhammad Nasir Khan ; the Accountant, 
Treasury Officer and Second Clerk all in one, M. Firoz ud Din ; 
the Chinese ‘‘ Writer,” i.e. Secretary and Intrepreter, Mr. 
George Chu of Peking, late Intrepreter with the Chinese Labour 
Corps in France; and the Doctor, Khan Sahib Fazl-i-[ahi. 
In spite of the conditions of exile under which they worked, 
two months’ journey or more from their homes—for with the 
exception of the Doctor none of them had been able to bring 
their wives or families to Kashgar—they laboured uncomplain- 
ingly and loyally, and made things very easy for their chief. 

For some years before our arrival there had been a platoon 
of Kashmir Imperial Service infantry under a native officer 
as Consular Escort, but this was “ axed ”’ in 1922 and replaced 
by eight mounted orderlies under a zemadar, recruited locally 
and armed with swords and revolvers. The pay and conditions 
of service being very good according to local ideas, we had 
the pick of the British subjects and some good Turki candi- 
dates to choose from, so that a really excellent set of men 
were got together. The best of them were Hafiz and Sangi 
Khan, who have already been introduced, and the Jemadar, a 
steady, nice, wise old Ladakhi called Ghulam Muhammad. 
These men, together with the dakchis or postal couriers and 
other Government employees and our private servants, all had 
quarters within the Consulate enclosure. Altogether our 
population was generally between seventy and eighty, including 
women and children ; some of the men had other wives in the 
town, but nobody was allowed more than one within the 
precincts of the Consulate-General. In fact, we had a regular 
village on the premises, with its own gate and water-supply, 
each house enclosing a courtyard and some of them a tiny 
garden as well. 

Government officials who live at the end of telegraph and 
(worse) telephone wires, as nearly all do nowadays even in 
the remotest parts of the Empire, will envy the Consul-General 
at Kashgar when they hear that practically all his official 
telegrams take between 11 and 1g days to reach him. There 
certainly is a Chinese telegraph line between Peking and 
Kashgar via Urumchi, but messages usually arrive in such a 
mangled state after a week or more en route and several re- 
transmissions, that it is seldom used for official correspondence, 
which comes through the nearest Indian telegraph station, 
Misgar. The Government of India maintains a service of 
couriers who bring the mails from Gilgit in 15-17 days and. 


eae 


NS NHWOAL JO MNVA HLIYON 


(ydvasojoy gaya [) 
WOU IVYHNAS-ALVINSNOOD HSILIVE 








KASHGAR 65 


the telegrams from Misgar in 11-13 days. Hunza men carry 
the bags on foot or horseback as far as Tashqurghan, Consulate 
couriers the rest of the distance. Except in early spring, 
when the mails are sometimes held up for a week or two by 
snow on the passes and the telegraph line over the Burzil is 
broken by the same agency, the service is remarkably regular. 
Accidents do happen, but are fortunately rare; in I92I a 
Hunza courier with his mail-bag fell off the path near Ata’abad 
and was dashed to pieces, and another was lost in the snow on 
the Mintaka Pass in the spring of 1923. Needless to say, these 
men are well paid, and the Kashgaris on the Tashqurghan 
section, who do the double journey by the Gez route once a 
month all the year round, have in addition comfortable married 
quarters in the Consulate “ village,’ a coveted privilege. 

Legation correspondence and other mails from China Proper, 
on the other hand, came by the Chinese post, which was 
regular and remarkably speedy, considering the vast distances 
involved. Letters took two months to reach Kashgar from 
Peking, and parcels (which came by cart) five to six months. 
Except for two private couriers whom we maintained for our 
heavy correspondence with Yarkand, we depended entirely on 
the Chinese post within the borders of Sinkiang. Our letters 
reached Keriya, for example, in ten days, though the distance 
is well over 400 miles, including 150 miles of sandy desert. The 
service between railhead at Pingtang and Keriya, via Kansu, 
Hami, Maralbashi and Yarkand, some 3,000 miles, is by far the 
longest courier-borne postal service in the world. Its effi- 
ciency is all the more creditable in view of the enormous 
difficulties with which the Department has to contend. The 
head of the Postal Department in Sinkiang during our time 
was an Italian and is always a European official of the Chinese 
Board of Communications; and the Chinese Postmasters 
whom we met at Kashgar were all men of up-to-date Western 
education with a good knowledge of English. 

“Society” at Kashgar consisted of the Chinese official 
world, the Swedish Mission, the Russian colony and the 
British Consulate-General. The Chinese officials of whom 
we saw most were the Taoyin, usually known by the honorific 
title of Tao Tai; his Foreign Affairs Secretary, who spoke 
English ; the Magistrates of the Old and New Cities, which 
are the headquarters of separate districts though only six 
miles apart ; the Commandant of the Old City garrison ; the 
Postmaster (another English-speaker), the Master of the Mint, 

5 


66 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


and one or two others. The Swedish Church Mission has 
branches at both the old and the new towns, as well as at 
Yarkand and Yangi Hissar. They were short-handed during 
our time owing to the Russian road being closed and transit 
vid India both difficult and expensive, and there were only 
three ladies and two men at the Old City Mission. We had 
some very good friends among the Swedes; most of them 
spoke English, and we came to regard them almost as our 
fellow-countrymen. 

Before the Revolution of 1917 the Russians were very 
strongly represented at Kashgar. The Consul-General was 
usually a diplomat of high rank with an escort of a hundred 
Cossacks and a very considerable retinue. Owing to this and 
to the relative proximity of the Transcaspian centres of Russian 
culture, the Tsarist Consulate-General was the preponderating 
element in Kashgar society. By 1920, however, it had died 
a natural death and the Russian colony had dwindled to twenty- 
three, of whom seven were children. The former Trade Agree- 
ment between Russia and the Sinkiang Government having 
been abrogated in 1922 and no new agreement having yet been 
concluded with Moscow, the Soviet Government was entirely 
unrepresented in southern Sinkiang during our time, though 
this was by no means the casenorth ofthe Tien Shan.1 More- 
over, the whole Russo-Chinese frontier from the Pamirs to 
Aqsu was closed by the Chinese, who allowed no Russians of 
the new régime to enter Kashgaria, so that the surviving 
colony consisted almost entirely of pre-Revolution residents 
who either could not or would not return to their own country. 
Like the Chinese, hardly any of them spoke any language but 
their own, a fact which added considerably to the complications 
of official entertaining. Indeed, had it not been for two of 
the Russians, who spoke English and Turki respectively and 
acted as interpreters, intercourse would have been impossible, 
for neither D. nor I could speak a word of Russian. 

In spite of the language difficulty, the official and foreign 
community met frequently and on the most friendly terms. 
We all “ did our bit ’” in the matter of entertaining, including 
the chief Chinese officials. who were most hospitable, and 
keenly appreciated European hospitality in return, although 
it must have seemed strange and barbarous to them. Some 


1A Trade Agreement has since been concluded between the Soviet 
Union and the Governor of Sinkiang ; and a Russian Consul (without 
escort) has been in residence at Kashgar since July 1925. 


KASHGAR | 67 


one of local importance, say one of the older Russian residents, 
would set the ball rolling with a Gargantuan feast to which 
every one was invited ; thereupon the Tao Tai and the Hsieh 
Tai and the Mission and the Bank and ourselves, not to be 
outdone, would rapidly follow suit, each after the manner 
of our kind. Social life at Kashgar thus alternated between 
periods of comparative quiet and bursts of feverish gaiety. 
Among the most enjoyable parties were those given on behalf 
of the Chinese by one or other of the leading Turki merchants 
in their beautiful gardens outside the city. It may be ex- 
plained that the modest term bagh or garden in Central Asia 
includes not only what we would call the garden but the house 
or houses built on it ; and very delightful places some of them 
are, with large airy rooms, quiet courtyards and deep high- 
roofed verandahs looking out on wildernesses of roses, pome- 
granates, vines, orchards and willow-fringed pools. 

Apart from all this hospitality, there were frequent calls 
to be paid to or received from Chinese officials from the Tao 
Tai downwards, either visits of ceremony in connection with 
Chinese or British festivals, arrivals or departures of officials 
and so on, or interviews on business. These last, if knotty 
‘“international’’ points had to be discussed, might last an 
hour and a half or two hours, but three-quarters of an hour 
was the average duration of a Chinese call. Not speaking a 
word of Chinese—I was told that seven years was the shortest 
time in which I could hope to acquire enough of the language 
to be of use to me officially—I relied entirely on the services 
of an interpreter, either Mr. Chu, the Chinese Writer, or (while 
he was with us) Mr. Harding, a brilliant Chinese scholar. As 
I had found when I first went to Persia, the necessity of 
speaking through an interpreter is not altogether a drawback 
in diplomacy. 

Another of my social duties was to exchange ceremonious 
calls twice a year with the British Aqsaqal and ten or twelve 
of the leading residents of the town. These latter included 
the chief Muhammadan religious and legal luminaries, the 
Yamen Begs and two or three of the wealthiest merchants 
engaged in the Russian trade. At Christmas they all came to 
pay their respects at the Consulate, and their calls had to 
be returned; at the ’Id festival it was my turn to call on 
them first. These visits were an education in old-world 
courtesy and dignified kindliness. Most of the old gentlemen 
were perfectly natural and had plenty to say for themselves, 


fe 


68 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


so that there was nothing stilted about these functions. 
I was surprised to find that, though they all knew some 
Arabic, the language of the Qur’an, only one of my Turki 
friends spoke Persian. That tongue, however, was our regular 
means of communication with the British subjects of Chitrali 
or Afghan extraction, including some of the Aqsaqals. 

We were not very much at headquarters in spring, summer 
and autumn, but when we were our spare time was fully 
occupied with rides and walks, tea-basket picnics, tennis with 
the Indian clerks on our excellent hard court, and so on. 
In winter there was skating on perfect ice from about 2oth 
November to roth February, as well as excellent duck- and 
snipe-shooting. My attempts to make a small practice-rink 
in the lower garden were not a success ; nothing would induce 
the water to remain under the ice as it formed. But there are 
many marsh-lakes throughout the Kashgar oasis which, as 
early as the middle of November, carry a foot or more of 
mirror-smooth black ice. The nearest of these natural rinks 
was six miles along the Aqsu road, and there was another one, 
much larger, among the marshes of Salarma five miles south- 
west of the New City. Two or three afternoons a week I 
_ rode out to one or other of these lakes, and often D. came 
with me or followed later with guns and the tea-basket. A 
couple of hours’ exhilarating practice on the perf€ct ice would 
be followed by tea on a sunny bank, after which we would 
take our guns and an orderly to neighbouring haunts of 
duck and teal that we knew of, seldom returning empty- 
handed. 

On days when there was not time to go out to the lakes 
there was plenty of shooting close at hand. The Tiimen Su, 
which flows past the Consulate-General, the Qizil Su two 
miles to the south, the Yaman Yar and other rivers, together 
with the innumerable springs along their banks, are frequented 
between October and March not only by the mallard and 
teal which breed in Kashgaria but by countless hosts of duck, 
geese and snipe of all kinds passing to and fro between the 
colder lands to the north and the lakes of Afghanistan, East 
Persia and North-western India. One day in November 
we counted no less than twenty-three gaggles of geese in the 
sky at the same moment, winging their way south-eastwards 
from beyond the Mountains of Heaven. A spring among 
the frozen rice-fields immediately below our garden wall 
was the haunt for weeks of several duck and a couple of snipe, 


KASHGAR 69 


which were so confiding that we came to regard them as pets 
and spared them from the pot; but less than a mile away, 
under the eastern wall of the city, was a large area of rice- 
fields kept moist by slightly warm springs, where on good 
days one could rely on putting up twenty or thirty couple of 
snipe. As for duck, I counted no less than eight different 
quiet spots within two miles where we could be reasonably 
sure of a shot at any time of the day. 

We had also our various hobbies. I spent hours puzzling 
out the results of my plane-tabling among the “ Alps of 
Oungur ”’ and elsewhere, and had also my enlarging apparatus 
(worked with an incandescent spirit lamp) with which I turned 
out many hundreds of pictures from my ever-increasing col- 
lection of negatives. The garden was D.’s chief joy and pride, 
but she also gathered the Consulate children round her two 
or three afternoons a week and taught them sewing, gardening, 
outdoor games and other accomplishments as well as such 
Girl-Guide and Wolf-Cub ideas as were appropriate in the 
circumstances. There was also a perfect menagerie of pets, 
useful or ornamental, to look after ; these included at various 
times (and mostly at the same time) three cats, four snow-cock, 
three gazelles, fourteen hens, five ducks, a white pony about 
the size of a Shetland which I bought at Qizil Bazar for the 
equivalent of eighteen shillings, eight rabbits and a camel. 
The gazelles and the poultry all came to a tragic end at one 
time or another at the jaws of the semi-wild dogs which 
are such a pest in Kashgaria. These brutes hunt in packs 
at night when they are supposed to be guarding their masters’ 
houses, and though I repulsed several of their attacks with 
my gun and killed some of them, they always came back, 
scrambling over the high walls of the garden with extraordinary 
agility. The loss of the poultry was particularly sad, for 
the cock, a magnficent bird of great size with all the colours 
of the rainbow in his plumage, had been picked up by us at a 
farm near Yarkand, while D. had brought back two beautiful 
hens three hundred miles or more from Khotan and Aqsu respec- 
tively. D.was breeding from these three birds and had raised 
two fine sets of chickens, when the dogs broke into their house 
and killed the whole lot one night. The feline members of the 
community were perhaps the most important of all; D. and I 
are both cat-lovers, and there is no doubt that the pussies ruled 
the Consulate. Their names reflected our polyglot habits at 
Kashgar, for the big tabby was “ Chong Mao,” the middle- 


70 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


sized black ‘‘ Chhota Mao,” while the black kitten which was 
brought to the door by a poor Kashgar woman in the spring 
and speedily became first favourite was generally known as 
“Wee Squeakie.”” Chong, I may explain, is Turki for “ big,” 
mao Chinese for ‘‘ cat,’’ and chhota Hindustani for ‘ small,’ 
so that four different languages (or five if you include Scotch) 
were represented in the nomenclature of the Consulate pussies. 

They were happy days we spent at Chini Bagh, and only 
too quickly did they pass; hardly, it seemed, were we back 
from one tour before it was time to prepare for another. For 
halcyon days, halcyon weather is needed; and here the 
climate played its part right nobly. For those who love the 
sun and yet like a winter that 7s a winter, the climate of Kash- 
gar approaches perfection. During the whole of our time 
there was not a single day on which the sun did not shine, 
if only for an hour, and on four out of five it shone all the 
time. Not always with its full strength, indeed, because of 
the dust-haze already described; but it shone. The average 
rainfall throughout the year at Kashgar is about two inches. 
Between the beginning of March and the end of July showers 
and rain-storms are liable to occur, but there is always ample 
warning, so that they cause a minimum of inconvenience 
to lovers of la vie au grand air, The Turki farmer likes a 
drop or two of rain during the early summer, but it must 
not be overdone. Some years ago during a drought the 
inhabitants of Kashgar requested a certain popular mulla to 
pray for rain. He did so with great fervour, and shortly 
afterwards rain fell in torrents, ruining the crops. Where- 
upon, at the petition of the Kashgaris, the Amban punished 
the unfortunate mulla with a thousand stripes! I remember 
during the first rain we had at Kashgar being astonished to 
see out of the window the gardener hurrying indoors with the 
geraniums ; on being questioned he explained that, as every 
one knew, rain-water was injurious to flowers and he was 
taking the geraniums in to save their lives. When it does 
rain, it is inadvisable to go out until the ground has dried, 
for the loess clay becomes so slippery with wet that it is 
almost impossible to keep one’s footing. Owing tothe extreme 
‘“continentality’’ of the climate—Chinese Turkistan lies 
further from the sea than any country in the world—the 
annual range of temperature averages 100° Fahrenheit; the 
lowest readings in January being in the neighbourhood of 
zero, while the highest shade temperature in August is 103° 


KASHGAR 71 


c 


to 105°. Another climatic feature arising from “ continent- 
ality’ is the fact that April is much hotter than October, 
which is the warmer month in other regions of the globe. 

In winter the ground freezes to a depth of a foot and a 
half, and all irrigation water stops owing to the choking of 
the canals with ice between 15th November and the end of 
February. Yet the Kashgar winter is not at all a formidable 
affair. The skies indeed are sometimes grey with dust-haze, 
and for several days in January the thermometer does not 
rise above freezing-point. But the sun shines most of the time, 
while as for wind, that terror of cold lands, we had none worth 
mentioning. Ringed round on three sides by lofty ranges, 
Kashgar is mercifully windless in winter, so that in spite of 
the hard and prolonged frost the cold is not severe. We made 
ourselves very cosy in the evenings in front of roaring wood 
fires. One of the first things we did to the Consulate was 
to instal good British open fireplaces, not being content with 
the cheerless Russian stoves we found in the house: vast shiny 
black cylinders like the funnels of monstrous locomotives, 
which disfigured and either under- or over-heated every room. 
There are usually one or two light snowfalls during the winter, 
but the snow melts very quickly in the strong sun, except where 
there is underlying ice. In spring and early summer occasional 
storms with rain or dust or both vary the monotony of the 
eternal sunshine, and are also to be welcomed for the exquisite 
clearness of the air which follows them. At any time in July 
or August the weather may become, for short spells at a time, 
unpleasantly warm according to European though not to 
Indian standards; punkahs are unknown, though I must 
confess I should sometimes have been glad of one. But the 
nights are seldom oppressively hot, except occasionally just 
before a storm. Another fly—to use an appropriate meta- 
phor—in the ointment of a Kashgar summer is the insect life. 
Mosquitoes and sand-flies are a trial, though not to be compared 
with those of an Indian plains station ; the former are smaller 
and less robust than those of Hindustan, and both can be 
effectively circumvented by a mixture of citronella oil and 
kerosene. At night muslin sand-fly curtains are advisable, 
unless one is sleeping in the open air and well away from 
walls. 

One would have expected that the cities of Chinese Turki- 
stan, where ideas regarding sanitation and hygiene are of 
the most primitive, would be hotbeds of disease and regularly 


72 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


swept by all sorts of epidemics. In particular it might be 
supposed that towns which are dependent for their water- 
supply upon small rivers, canals and even ponds would be 
peculiarly liable to the scourge of cholera, as are those of 
Eastern Persia and Afghanistan where similar conditions 
prevail. But it is a remarkable fact that cholera, typhus and 
plague are alike unknown, though they appear regularly in 
Ferghana and Bokhara immediately to the west. Stranger 
still, though dogs both tame and semi-wild abound, and though 
they occasionally go mad and bite people, hydrophobia is 
unheard of, though common enough on the Russian side of the 
Tien Shan. The only serious infectious diseases are typhoid 
and smallpox, which appear to be endemic ; in neither case, 
however, is the mortality rate high, in spite of the lack of 
western-trained doctors and hospitals, nor have Europeans 
muchto fearfromthem. Theonly ailment which seems to give 
Europeans much trouble is a comparatively mild form of 
malaria which is prevalent in the districts where there is much 
rice-cultivation. On the whole, Kashgaria may be said to be 
one of the healthiest countries in Asia. So, at any rate, we 
found it, for with the exception of a single chill which kept D. 
in bed for a week or two our first September neither of us hada 
day’s illness during the whole of our time in Chinese Turkistan. 


ARCS a 





EVENING ON THE TUMEN SU ABOVE KASHGAR 





CHAPTER VI 
A CENTRAL ASIAN ARCADY 


N a clear May morning before breakfast at Kashgar it 
() is pleasant to lean on the parapet of the flat roof of the 

Consulate and allow one’s gaze to wander round the 
vast horizon of oasis and desert, of plains and snowy ranges. 
Beyond that horizon, north, south, east and west, it is easy 
to picture the sunlit spaces of High Asia stretching away 
round the dipping curve of the globe. How remote and iso- 
lated was the ancient land to which we had come! Some- © 
times I wondered whether railway or even metalled road 
would ever scale those lofty ramparts of ice, or bridge the 
immense gulf of desert between us and the Far East. Whose 
while would it be worth to spend the millions needed ? There 
in the north, beyond the Mountains of Heaven, was the fair 
province of Semirechia, once richest of the Tsar’s Central 
Asian lands and the home of many thousands of colonists from 
European Russia—a “‘ white man’s land ”’ indeed. It looked 
at one time as if Kashgar was going to be made accessible from 
Europe through Semirechia more easily than by any other 
route ; the Tsar’s Government were pushing the Chimkend- 
Vyerni extension of their Transcaspian Railway rapidly 
eastwards towards the Dzungarian frontier, and southwards 
from Pishpek on this line they made a rough carriage-road by 
Fort Narin to the Tien Shan. They even, I believe, carried 
a route carossable over the Turug Art Pass, while from the 
Kashgar side they somehow or other—the Russian Consulate- 
General was very strong in those days—brought about the 
building of a fine bridge over the Tiimen River just outside the 
Yarbagh Gate of the Old City. This bridge would have been 
convenient for visitors, armed or otherwise, who might have 
happened to approach Kashgar by the Narin Road. It was 
swept away by a summer flood some years ago, and curiously 
enough has not been rebuilt by the Chinese. Then there was 

73 


74 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


Ferghana to the west, an older land than Semirechia and no 
less fair. The Islamic culture of Kashgar comes from the 
ancient cities of Ferghana ; its minstrels still sing of Marghilan, 
the Silver City, its ballads tell of the days when there were 
Khansin Khokand. The Russians before the War had brought 
their railway to Andijan, and for years the caravan-route over 
the Terek Pass from that town was the least arduous of the 
roads to Kashgar. Thus it is that such little foreign influence 
as has left its mark upon this place is Russian. But in Central 
Asia the triumph of politics over nature is short-lived, and 
the trade between Kashgar and Russian Turkistan is a mere 
shadow of its former self. To the south of Ferghana lay 
the secluded mountain lands of Eastern Bokhara, another 
ancient Khanate. Time was when the Oxus and its affluent 
the Surkhab saw the caravans passing to and fro between 
Persia and Cathay; long before the Revolution, the organi- 
zation by the Russian Government of the Andijan route had 
diverted traffic from the ancient Silk Road, but the glories of 
Bokhara and far Samarkand were household words in Kashgar 
none the less. Now the age-old Chinese policy of seclusion has 
once more prevailed, and the city of Tamerlane is as remote 
from Kashgar as Roum—Constantinople—itself. Then, to the 
south-west beyond the Pamirs, Afghanistan, now emerging 
from the shelter of her mountain walls into the dusty arena 
of the twentieth century; then the “ Rough Bounds,” as 
they would call them in the Highlands, of Dardistan and 
Baltistan across which we came; and last Tibet, the true 
Roof of the World, still remote and mysterious in spite of 
the long but narrow searchlight-beam of publicity which has 
lately fallen upon it. 

Ignorance in Kashgaria of the outside world is still profound. 
Strangers, especially ‘‘ Afghans,” under which generic term 
Indians, Persians and Bokharans as well as genuine Afghans 
are grouped, are called “ travellers’’ (musafir), or ‘‘men who 
have crossed the passes’ (davan-ashti), for the road to Leh 
and India is often referred to as the “‘ Seven Passes.’’ What 
little knowledge there is of India and its English protectors is 
confined to Kashgar, Yarkand and the oases of the south; 
along the north-east road, in Maralbashi, Aqsu, Kucha, etc., 
the vaguest ideas prevail. Nor do their Chinese rulers en- 
lighten the inhabitants ; quite the reverse. Some of those we 
met had very hazy ideas themselves as to what was “‘ beyond 
the passes.” Harding told me that they visualized India, if 


A CENTRAL ASIAN ARCADY 75 


at all, as a mountainous frontier province of ‘‘ England,” 
inhabited entirely by turban-heads (Chan-t’ou) over whom 
ruled a white race only slightly less barbarous than themselves, 
I remember once being told by an inspecting officer from 
Urumchi who called on me about the road across the Gobi 
Desert to China Proper: “It is not so dangerous as it used 
to be,” he said, perfectly seriously. ‘‘ The route the caravans 
used to go by between Hami and Tunhwang became infested 
by stone dragons, which breathed fire and storm and devoured 
many travellers. They got so bad, that the government sent 
out a detachment of troops against them. But the stone 
dragons devoured the troops too. So the route had to be 
declared closed and now travellers go by a longer one where 
there are no stone dragons.”” Another Magistrate with whom I 
was talking about the elusive “ cloudy tiger’’ of the Tarim 
River jungles was very contemptuous about this animal, which 
he admitted he had never seen. “‘ It is like the Turban-head, 
mild and cowardly,” he said. ‘“‘ The real Chinese tiger is a 
very different animal. It is twice as big as the Maralbashi 
tiger, and it bears on its forehead the royal symbol, Wang. 
Wherever it goes, a strong wind follows it. Thus is it recog- 
nized.”’ 1 

Every now and again some sight or incident would bring 
forcibly home to me the Arcadian isolation in which the people 
of the country lived. One day while walking near the Aqsu 
Gate I came upon a small crowd lining the bank above one of 
the few short pieces of levelroad near the city. Wondering what 
they were looking at, I joined them and saw—a young man 
vigorously pedalling a bicycle up anddown. The crowd gazed 
in awed silence. I got into conversation with a man who told 
me that this ‘‘ velocipede ’”’ was the only one in Kashgar and 
that its owner occasionally gave exhibitions. Hedid not think 
that anyone else in Kashgar knew how to ride a velocipede. 


1So tall were some of the yarns with which I was solemnly regaled 
by dear old mandarins, that had it not been for the fact that they 
obviously believed every word they said I would have taken it for 
granted that they were trying to pull my leg. One, who evidently 
thought I had never seen a yak, told me some remarkable facts about 
that animal. He said that a yak will dig his horn into the mountain- 
side and thus swing his body across a steep face, using his horn as a 
pivot. More wonderful still, when a loaded yak comes to a corner in 
a narrow cliff-path where a rock juts out and prevents his getting 
his load round in the ordinary way, he turns inward, facing the cliff, 
and stdles round the corner with his hind legs over the edge ! 


76 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


In some ways the Tarim Basin is more than old-fashioned— 
it is medieval. I remember reading the late Elroy Flecker’s 
play ‘‘ Hassan” and being charmed with its poetry, but a 
little superior about the romantic glamour which it evidently 
had for London audiences—the Golden Road to Samarkand, 
and so on. 


‘ Samarkand’s nothing,’ I wrote in a letter home. “ Here at 
Kashgar we are twice as far beyond Samarkand as Samarkand is 
far from London. After all, the city of Tamerlane is directly con- 
nected with Charing Cross by steamship and railway, whereas if you 
want to come to Kashgar you must undertake a real caravan-journey, 
and a long one too. Even before the days of railways and steam- 
ships the caravan journey from Baghdad to Samarkand was not half 
as long as that from China Proper to this place by Shensi, Tunhwang 
and Keriya, which is still used occasionally by camel caravans bringing 
Chinese tea and silks. Then there is the still longer, though cooler, 
north road across the Mongolian steppes, along which an old Chinese 
carrier came the other day. He left railhead with his camels last 
September and turned up smiling in June, talking of his nine months’ 
journey as if it had been a week-end trip. He told me that he had 
marched for fifty days once without seeing a human being... . 

“ About Baghdad, too, it is a little difficult to enthuse if you have 
been there. Constantinople, yes; but not Baghdad. Anyway, in 
twentieth-century Yarkand we can match the characters in ‘ Hassan’ 
and the things they did in eighth-century Baghdad. Take the Chief 
of the Beggars, for example. The Beggars, or Qalandars, are a guild 
recognized by the authorities with their Shangia or Chief, just as in 
old Baghdad, and the Chief of the Beggars is one of the wealthiest 
men in Yarkand. This is because he and his men are in close alliance 
with the Shangia of the Pashvaps or Chief of Police (a Turki subor- 
dinate official) and his men. The two Chiefs co-operate in the organi- 
zation of burglaries and thefts, sharing the spoil. Practically every- 
thing that is stolen in Yarkand comes eventually into the hands of 
one or other of these two men. Since the Chinese made opium con- 
traband a few years ago, too, they have reaped a rich harvest out 
of the illicit trade in that drug between Afghanistan and Yarkand. 


1The result of the Governor of Sinkiang’s prohibition of opium 
cultivation and importation has been instructive. Until it became 
contraband, the consumption of opium in southern Sinkiang was 
comparatively small and prices were low; but once the import from 
Afghanistan and Semirechia was prohibited, the price went up and 
it became “ the thing’ not only to smoke but to smuggle it. There 
came to be big money in the business, and this, together with the 
excitements of opium-running among the wild mountains of the Sino- 
Afghan frontier, attracted the most adventurous spirits in the country. 
The Urumchi Government and the more efficient of the District Magis- 
trates do their best to stop the smuggling, which is only as profitable 
as it is because there is absolutely no cultivation of the poppy in 
Sinkiang, a fact to which the Goverment point with justifiable pride ; 


A CENTRAL ASIAN ARCADY 77 


“This is how they work. As every one who is acquainted with 
Muhammadan countries knows, it is a sawab or merit-acquiring action 
to give alms to any beggar, whether he deserves it or not. Conse- 
quently the fraternity flourish even as the green bay tree; also, they 
hear all that is going on. They therefore make admirable spies and 
allies for the police. Suppose, then, that an opium-running convoy 
from Afghanistan is reported by the beggars to be approaching Yark- 
and. The smugglers always break up into parties of two or three 
among the foothills above the city and endeavour to enter with their 
loads by night. The Chief of Police then calls the Chief of the Beggars 
to his garden outside the city and the two of them concoct a plan of 
campaign something like this: on the nights when the smugglers are 
expected the Chief of the Beggars will post parties of his men near 
the most likely of the many holes in the city walls, with orders to 
intercept any smugglers they can get hold of and drag them off to the 
garden of the Chief of Police; the pashraps or watchmen are to patrol 
the streets and environs of the town and do likewise. When the 
time comes the two Chiefs await the result at the appointed place and 
divide the spoil, which usually consists of heavy blackmail in kind 
taken from the captured smugglers. 

“ Think of the dramas that must be enacted at a place like Yarkand ! 
There must be enough in one year to make plots for a score of ‘ Has- 
sans.’ Everything is there, from the comic rivalry between the Chief 
of Police and the Captain of the Military, who is represented by the 
Tungling or (Chinese) commandant of the garrison with his locally- 
recruited soldiers, to the tyrant Harun-ar-Rashid and his torture- 
chamber. General Ma, Titai of Kashgaria, with the big hay-chopper 
with which he slices men’s limbs off joint by joint, would play the 
latter to the life.’’ 


The oases of the Tarim Basin are a land flowing with milk 
and, if not honey, almost everything else. D. has a vivid and 
by no means overdrawn picture of the Kashgar bazaars in 
one of her letters home. 


“In the autumn the bazaars, always well supplied, positively 
overflow with things to eat. Millers sit in their shops behind mountains 
of flour, next door to them grain-merchants squat surrounded by 
huge sacks of golden corn-cobs, rice, wheat and millet. The vegetable 
stalls are weighed down with enormous onions, lettuces, cabbages, 
bundles of spinach and strange local vegetables which are new to us. 
Even the tinsmiths, the cloth-merchants, the cap-sellers have fruit 
and vegetables to sell, and at every corner sits some one with baskets 
of peaches, melons, pomegranates and grapes. Luscious nectarines 
fall off the stalls and the street-boys do not even trouble to pick them 
up. Horses and donkeys snatch at bundles of hay or dried lucerne 


but the extreme difficulty of the frontier, and the countless secret 
paths by which determined men riding ponies like mountain goats can 
inport the drug, make the prevention of smuggling an impossible 
task. Also there is the co-operation between the two “ Hassan” 
characters described above. 


78 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


as they pass, and nobody minds, for the loss of one or two bundles 
matters little among so many. In this country everybody seems to 
be eating all the time. Not only in the town but for miles along the 
roads leading to it there are wayside food-pedlars every hundred 
yards, the very poorest of whom has a few handfuls of nuts, slices of 
melon, and a pomegranate or two to sell; the grander ones have 
booths or large barrows shaded by umbrella-like canopies of matting 
and piled up with strange sloppy white sweetmeats and ‘ mantas,’ 
which are made of minced meat enclosed in thin cases of dough, as 
well as with the usual melons, peaches and other fruit. No wonder 
that the Kashgaris are a fat and cheerful race.”’ 


The cost of living for Europeans at Kashgar is lower even 
than it was in India thirty years ago. Wages are absurdly 
low. The only one of our servants who drew a comparatively 
high wage was Ahmad Bakhsh, who received 60 rupees (£4) 
a month because he was an Indian and in exile. Our excellent 
cook, Daud Akhun, drew ro taels or £1 6s. 8d.—and other 
servants in proportion down to honest, smiling Salih Akhun, 
who did third gardener, kitchen assistant and odd-job man, 
for the princely sum of 16s.a month. Salih Akhun’s manners 
were delightful ; whenever he saw you a grin spread over his 
rugged face and his right arm moved like clockwork across his 
lower front in the Turki salute. As for food, here are some of 
the average prices D. paid in the course of her daily house- 
keeping : 


Meat (excellent mutton every day, beef Thursdays only), 2d. 
per lb. ; ox or yak tongues, 8d.; kidneys, 5 for 2d. 

Eggs, 2d. a dozen. 

Chickens, 4d. to 6d. according to size; large fat ducks, 84d. 

Milk, 1d. per pint; cream, 8d., from which we made our own 
butter. 

Wheat flour (poor quality), 4d. per lb., rice ditto. 

Cabbages, 1d. each, spinach 1d. per 1b., potatoes and tomatoes, 
2d. per lb. 

Apricots, in season, per basket of about 3 lb., 12d.; peaches 
and nectarines, 2d.; grapes, 3d. 

Dried fruits (apricots, peaches, raisins), 1d. per lb. 

Game in season: pheasants and wild duck, 6d.; teal and par- 
tridge, 4d. ; snow-cock (twice as bigasa pheasant), 1s. 4d. 


Fresh fish was an item which often appeared on D.’s menus, 
the best kind being the asman-belek or ‘‘ heaven-fish,” which 
is very much the same as the “ mahseer”’ of India, and is found 
in both the rivers which flow past Kashgar, the Qizil Su and 


A CENTRAL ASIAN ARCADY 79 


the Tiimen Su. D. never bought it in the bazaar, but ar- 
ranged with a particular fisherman to bring along his morning 
catch now and again. She paid him 4d. a pound for it, 
straight from the river. In winter the Chinese get frozen 
fish by post from Ili in the north, and this is regarded as a 
great delicacy; it is a kind of sturgeon, which if thawed 
gradually is quite eatable. But we much preferred fresh 
‘““heaven-fish.”” There is a theory among the Europeans of 
Kashgar that the local fish is dangerous to eat, on account of 
a poisonous gland or something of the kind; this seemed to 
us to be a myth, for neither we nor our guests ever felt the 
slightest ill-effects from it. We went out one morning with 
our friend the fisherman and his mate to study their methods. 
At 7 a.m. they called for us at the Consulate with their para- 
phernalia, which consisted of a large bag-shaped net on a 
triangular frame attached to a pole carried by one man, and 
a long stick carried by the other. Arrived at the canal (the 
Oizil Su in which they usually fished was rather a long walk 
from the Consulate, so the men said they would try the mill- 
canals of the Tiimen Su) the man with the net entered the 
water and submerged the net, facing upstream; his mate 
waded in about fifty yards above and began beating the water 
with his pole, gradually working down, in order to drive any 
fish there were into the net. When he had finished the beat 
the other man lifted the net out of the water to see if there 
were any fish in it. We watched them do this at several 
different points, but we evidently brought them no luck, for 
not one did they catch. In the Kizil Su they used to get quite 
big fish, eight or ten pounds. 

The king of Kashgar fruits is undoubtedly the melon known 
as the Beshak Shirin. It is indeed a super-melon. We used 
to think in Baluchistan that the melons were good, and at 
Kerman too I used to get fine ones by the donkey-load as 
presents from Persian friends. But the best of Persia and 
Baluchistan were only as the inferior kinds grown at Kashgar. 
The Beshak Shirin is shaped like the Cantelupe, and is yellow 
with green markings ; it is on an average twice as big as any 
Cantelupe one sees in London shops, and when ripe its skin 
is so thin that its juice oozes out on to the dish. Its flesh, 
white or pale yellow, you can eat right down to the skin and 
its flavour is ambrosial. We weighed and measured a fairly 
good specimen from our own garden—by no means the biggest 
I have seen ; its circumference was 33 inches and its weight 


80 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


174 1b. During the lamentably short season of about three. 
weeks in August-September a Beshak of this size costs 3d. in 
the bazaar. Melons like a slightly salt soil, but must have a 
great deal of water ; when we were making an orchard out of 
the lower garden, which had been under useless and insect- 
harbouring Babylonian willow, we first sowed melons in order 
to take the salt out of the soil, and the crop we obtained was a 
magnificent one. The Beshak Shirin of Kashgar is of the 
same kind, and probably just as good, as the famous melons 
of Hami in the extreme east of the province. The latter used 
to be sent as presents to the Emperor in classical times, as 
any educated Chinamen will tell you. As the distance is~ 
2,000 miles by road, and as the Beshak is a delicate melon 
and quickly goes bad, I often wondered how they did it ; and 
I once questioned a Chinese official who had been posted at 
Hami on the subject. He told me that the reason why Hami 
melons are so much prized is because they retain their flavour 
even when dried. There is, or was, a regular trade in dried 
melons between Hami and China Proper. Presents of fresh 
melons were, however, sent to the Emperors of the late Ching 
Dynasty every year by special camel caravan across the 
Mongolian Desert. Ten times as many as the number in- 
tended for presentation used to be sent, each packed in a box 
separately with cotton wool, as only about ten per cent. of 
those sent used to be fit for the Emperor’s table when they 
arrived. 

We grew all our own vegetables in the garden, of which 
D. was in charge, except potatoes, which were good and cheap 
in the bazaar and took up too much room in the garden. 
Beginning with spinach in March we were well supplied through- 
out the season with asparagus, green peas, cabbages, red 
tomatoes, French beans, cauliflowers and Brussels sprouts. 
D. also introd&ced broad beans, yellow ‘‘ Golden Queen ’”’ 
tomatoes and bfivmal or egg-plant (the French aubergine) 
from India ; all did ve®well and were greatly appreciated by 
our Chinese guests. ‘ll 

As we had no greenhouses, owing to the prohibitive cost 
of glass, it was necessary to store vegetables throughout the 
winter by burying them in deep pits. Owing to the inten 
dryness it was possible to do this without first drying the™ 
vegetables, and we thus got cabbages, cauliflowers and Brussels 
sprouts fresh daily right through till March, when the spinach 
(sown the previous autumn) was ready. The mouths of the 


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A CENTRAL ASIAN ARCADY 81 


pits were filled up with a layer three feet thick of branches, 
matting, straw and leaves, a small hole closed with straw only 
being left for the gardener to get in and out by. 

With regard to fruit, nearly everything that is found in a 
south of England garden grew well in our garden ; most of the 
fruit indeed ripened too quickly so that there was a good 
deal of waste. We used to get two crops of green figs, but the 
trees had to be well covered up in winter to protect them from 
the frost. Grapes also grew wonderfully, the base of the vine- 
stem being similarly covered up in winter. Strawberries (known 
locally as ‘“‘ Russian mulberries ’’) grew in profusion, but never 
became very sweet or large because they ripened too quickly, 
Apples and pears were poor, for lack of good European varieties, 
but peaches, nectarines, black mulberries, greengages and 
damsons were all as good as could be; the greengages, indeed, 
were almost too sweet. And yet our orchard was not a good 
one, compared for instance with those of the chief Andijani 
merchants. Besides all the above, they grew magnificent 
cherries, quinces and pomegranates, none of which were good 
in our garden. Among flowers, most annuals did very well, 
and roses too if the bushes were carefully buried in winter. 
D. started a most successful rose-garden with several varieties 
imported from India. 

I have already mentioned the frequency with which we 
were entertained by the hospitable Chinese officials. This 
was particularly the case when Chu Tao Tai, as he was generally 
called, was Taoyin or Prefect of Kashgaria. From the social 
point of view, apart from everything else, it was a great blow 
to us when after a long term of office at Kashgar this univer- 
sally-respected official was transferred to Yarkand in the 
autumn of 1922. Beaming allover with humour and good-will, 
he was one of the best hosts I have ever seen, and we always 
looked forward to his parties. He got over the language 
difficulty at the more polyglot meals by the simple method of 
seating all the guests of one nationality together, so that there 
was always a subdued hum of conversation, if no more; 
besides which he himself was always an interesting and inter- 
ested talker and kept the available interpreters fully occupied. 
What appealed to us most, however, was his consideration 
for his foreign guests’ likes and dislikes. He had evidently 
made a special study of European tastes and manners, and as 
far as possible he tempered the wind of Chinese hospitality 
to the shorn Western lamb. 

6 


82 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


Our first dinner-party at the Taoyin’s Yamen was a memor- 
able affair. To begin with, our kind host insisted on sending 
round for us his landau and pair of spirited Russian bays. 
In we climbed at the Consulate gate, off went two of our 
uniformed orderlies and four Chinese troopers in front and 
next moment we were galloping through our outer gate and 
down the narrow, uneven lane leading to the Yarbagh Gate at 
a most alarming rate, hotly pursued by our other orderlies 
on their horses and more yelling Chinese cavalrymen. Arrived 
at the city gate I thought we would slacken speed through 
the crowded streets, but not a bit of it; on we tore, grazing 
fruit-stalls and missing street-corners by inches, the outriders 
clearing a lane for us with shouts and yells, until we came to 
an unimposing mud gateway above which towered a tall mast 
with a curious kind of crow’s nest half-way up it. Above hung 
the five-coloured flag of the Chinese Republic—yellow for 
the Chinese themselves, red for the Mongols, black for the 
Manchus, white for the Mussulmans and blue for the Tibetans. 
As we alighted and entered the Yamen precincts a primitive 
fife-and-drum band struck up from a gallery on our left, and we 
were further startled a moment later by loud shouts of Pao ! 
(salute) from our escort, followed by three deafening bangs. 
A moment later we found ourselves walking past a row of 
Chinese soldiers in baggy blue uniforms presenting arms with 
antiquated-looking rifles, and a black-clad Chinese major- 
domo was bowing before us with our own huge red visiting- 
cards—sent on ahead for the purpose—clasped in both hands. 
White-bearded Turki Begs in long cloaks conducted us through 
an inner gate into a beautiful garden full of every kind of 
flower and fruit and containing three large ponds covered with 
pink-blossomed lotus. In the middle was a raised platform 
with a pagoda roof over it and white-clothed tables spread with 
fruit and sweets; beyond it, a long single-storied pavilion 
of painted wood, one end of which with its verandah overhung 
one of the lotus-ponds like the broad stern of a houseboat. 
Our genial host and his ‘‘ Foreign Secretary ’’ met us near the 
gate with many polite Chinese speeches and hand-shakes both 
Chinese and English, and led us to the summer-house where we 
found gathered most of the other guests, including the leading 
Chinese officials and representatives of the Swedish and 
Russian communities. It was now three o’clock and we had 
not lunched, so that we were glad to keep up our strength with 
tea and fruit at intervals throughout the hour and a half which 


A CENTRAL ASIAN ARCADY 83 


followed, during which we all sat talking in the pavilion or 
walked about the garden admiring the lotuses. Dinner when 
it came at last was served in the houseboat-like pavilion, the 
interior of which consisted of one long, airy dining-room taste- 
fully decorated with flowers in pots and Chinese paintings. 

The Taoyin, as I have said, was always merciful to his 
European friends, and the dinner was much shorter than the 
average Chinese repast. There were only some twenty-five 
courses, and these were eaten with the full complement of 
knives, forks and spoons ; not a chop-stick to be seen, though 
I, for one, as soon as I had learnt the knack of using them, 
always used chop-sticks on the exotic Chinese food rather than 
banal Western cutlery. It may be of interest to record the 
menu, so far as I was able to identify the courses. Hors 
d’ceuvres including, in addition to the usual items, slices of 
hard-boiled egg which had been buried for some years and had 
turned quite green, were eaten during as well as before the meal. 


MENU 


Tea and Dessert 
Hors d’ceuvres 
Syrup dumplings 
Shark’s fin with shredded chicken 
Pigeon’s eggs 
Pork fritters 
Traveller-fish soup 
Bamboo-root stewed in syrup 
Roast chicken 
Mince dumplings 
Dried Chuguchak sturgeon 

Sea-slug soup 
Tinned oranges 
Stewed chestnuts 
Cold roast pork 
Veal fritters 
Fish tripe 
Cabbage soup 

Stewed pears stuffed with rice 
Pastry dumplings 
Baked mutton 
Roast pigeon 

Mutton fat fritters 
Seaweed soup 

Lotus seeds in syrup 
Boiled rice 
Tea and dessert 


The Taoyin’s chef was a master, and many of the above 
dishes were excellent, both European and Chinese; but I 


84 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


must confess that the three or four favourite Chinese plats 
leave me cold. Shark’s fin consists of a tangle of absolutely 
tasteless pieces of white elastic, stewed with shreds of chicken ; 
sea-slugs are dark grey gelatinous substances with an un- 
pleasant dead sort of flavour, swimming in a salty gravy ; 
bamboo-root in slices has a nutty flavour and is not so bad, but 
very indigestible ; another delicacy which is, I believe, a kind 
of seaweed tastes of—well, of seaweed. I can quite believe 
that all these things have a quite different flavour when fresh, 
especially the marine products which seem to appeal par- 
ticularly to the Chinese ; the trouble is that in Sinkiang, five 
months’ journey from the coast, they can only be obtained 
in the dried form, and yet the Chinese like or pretend to like 
them better than the best-cooked fresh local products. The 
fact is, I suppose, that the exiled Chinaman has the palate of 
faith and to him even a dried sea-slug tastes of home. 
What was almost always a trial at Yamen banquets was 
the drink. Except on great occasions when one or two bottles 
of a sticky brand of French champagne were produced and 
administered in small quantities, there was nothing to drink 
but a peculiarly evil-smelling kind of brandy. One was 
seldom pressed to eat, for which one was thankful enough, 
but it was impossible to avoid at least sipping the brandy 
between every course. A Chinese host talks much more about 
his cellar than about his cook; to refuse to drink with him 
means that you do not like his wine, an imputation which 
causes him much loss of face. Apart from the conventional 
politenesses, which one soon learns to give and take as a matter 
of course, there is nothing stilted or ceremonious about Chinese 
conviviality, even on official occasions. The etiquette seems to 
be for a guest to behave as if he were in his own home, lolling 
about on his chair, getting up from table in the middle of dinner 
and walking about for a few minutes, and so on. When 
conversation flagged at our own parties it was generally safe 
to start the Chinese off on a kind of “ fingers-out ’’ game which 
was very popular. In this, two players put out their right 
hands at the same time, either closed or with one or more 
fingers outstretched, at the same time shouting a number which 
they guess will be the total number of fingers out for both 
hands. Whenever one of the players shouts the correct 
number, he makes the other drink his health. The fingers go 
out and the numbers are shouted with amazing rapidity, and 
when three or four such contests are going on at the same time 


A CENTRAL ASIAN ARCADY 85 


the effect on the gaiety, or at any rate noisiness, of the party 
and on the circulation of the liquor is remarkable. 

The manners and customs of the table-servants were a never- 
failing source of delight to D. and myself. I have mentioned 
in a former chapter the staid Chinese butler at Yangi Hissar 
who clapped his master’s bowler on top of his own Homburg 
and stood solemnly wearing the two hats throughout the tea- 
party. Often at dinner-parties in the open, when we had left 
the table and were sitting over tea and dessert in another part 
of the garden, I noticed the waiters going round the table and 
pouring back into the bottle any champagne or brandy left 
by the diners in their glasses. After one of our own dinners on 
the terrace, I happened to go back suddenly to the table to 
fetch something and found two attendants who had come with 
Chinese guests similarly occupied—but it was not into my 
bottles that they were pouring the remains of the drinks. At 
a certain ladies’ dinner-party at Khotan D. was electrified to 
observe one of the waiters take away a guests’ cup, drink off 
the cold remains of the tea and, without washing it, fill it up 
from the tea-pot and hand it back to its owner. After that, 
she said, she took care to drain her cup to the dregs every time ! 

Harding and I (D. fortunately was not invited) attended 
during our first week in Kashgar another meal which was very 
different from the civilized banquet described above. This 
was a lunch given by General Ma, Titai (G.O.C.) of Kashgaria, 
one of the worst scoundrels in Central Asia. This person was a 
Muhammadan of Yunnan province, aged over seventy yet full 
of vitality, who had held the chief military command south of 
the Tien Shan for seven or eight years and had taken advantage 
of his position to enrich and aggrandize himself by the most 
brutal and oppressive methods. He made everybody call 
him Padshah (king) on pain of death; he had a whole 
harem full of the prettiest Turki women in Kashgar, and his 
armed agents roamed the country-side “‘ looking for new cows 
to milk,’ as the Titai facetiously put it. The only person in 
Kashgaria of whom he was afraid was Chu Tao Tai, and after 
the latter’s transfer his extortions quadrupled. He had a 
pleasant way of trumping up charges against people whom 
he did not like, or who refused to pay him the blackmail he 
demanded, and cutting off their fingers or toes, joint by 
joint, in an immense hay-chopper he had constructed specially 
for the purpose. In fact, he emulated the exploits of the worst 
robber-Tuchuns of China Proper, the only difference being 


86 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


that his army was mostly on paper and he had no real strength 
behind him. 

Ma Titai’s headquarters were at the New or Chinese city, 
six miles east of Old Kashgar, and here he kept up great state. 
Harding and I looked forward with much interest to seeing 
this ogre; nor were we disappointed, for there was some- 
thing distinctly ogre-ish about our experiences. Half an 
hour’s ride from the Consulate brought us within sight of the 
long massive walls of the Titai’s citadel. Here we were met 
by a troop of well-mounted but untidy and apparently only 
quarter-disciplined Chinese cavalry, who escorted us in a 
thick cloud of dust through dirty, tumbledown bazaars 
thronged by a sinister-looking half-breed populace to a huge 
mud-brick gateway of the lasciate ogni speranza type. Here 
the smell which rose from the dry moat below nearly knocked 
us off our horses. Within, more gateways, skew-eyed like 
the first to keep out the devils (in China the devils can only 
fly straight, so a gateway with a kink in it defeats them) 
followed by a long street of shops rather more prosperous- 
looking than those outside. Here and there we had peeps 
up side-lanes of fantastically-shaped- temples and other 
buildings, some half-ruined, others grotesquely painted and 
surmounted by symbolical wooden figures of birds and beasts. 
At last we came to the Titai’s yamen or palace and found 
ourselves in a vast square with a pagoda-roofed gateway in 
front of us and enormous figures of dragons on either side. 
Troops of soldiers dashed about presenting arms as they ran 
and fell hurriedly into line with much shouting of words of 
command, while the salute-guns banged their welcome and 
horses shied in all directions. Passing through huge painted 
doors we were welcomed in an inner courtyard by a short, 
grizzled, monkey-like old man with a long wispy moustache 
and fierce eyes, resplendently arrayed in a saxe-blue Chinese 
Field Marshal’s uniform several sizes too large for him, com- 
plete with plumed hat, several rows of stars and medals and 
gold lace epaulettes the size of hassocks flapping from his 
shoulders. With the gold-encrusted tunic hanging about his 
wispy old frame like a frock-coat on a scarecrow, and the over- 
alls, as usual in the Sinkiang Army, innocent of braces, he 
looked a regular Chinese Count Hedzoff of Paphlagonia ; 
but there was a sinister feel behind the opera-bouffe—or was it 
only because we knew about the murders and torturings which 
went on somewhere behind the grim walls of his citadel ? 


A CENTRAL ASIAN ARCADY 87 


Behind him we were relieved to see Chu Tao Tai and other 
official friends from the Old City; the Tao Tai whispered to 
us that he had made a point of being present as he was the 
only person who could keep the Titai in some sort of order. 

The meal when it came was a remarkable experience. We 
sat down to a table which had evidently been arranged for the 
old man by Chu Tao Tai, for the seating and appointments 
were very much the same as at the latter’s Yamen ; but there 
the resemblance ended. The first thing our host did was to 
take off his uniform in front of us all and sit down in a suit of 
pale blue silk pyjamas, remarking as he did so that it was very 
hot and he could stand the uniform no longer. He then 
seized his chop-sticks and began piling our plates with messes 
from a mountain of mixed garbage in the middle of the table. 
Then he shouted to the crowd of minions behind his chair to 
bring his wine, with which he proceeded to fill our glasses, 
telling me through Fitzmaurice that it was the best wine in 
China and contained seventy-one different ingredients, in- 
cluding pounded cuttle-fish bones and essence of tiger’s claw. 
From the smell I could quite believe it, while as for the taste, 
it nearly took the roof off my mouth ; it was not wine at all 
but exceedingly potent brandy. I heard afterwards that the 
Titai’s brew with its seventy-one dopes was famous through- 
out Central Asia; it was believed that he owed his extra- 
ordinary health and strength (in spite of his age, he was drunk 
every day of his life) to the magic properties of some of the 
ingredients. Shark’s fin and the other usual delicacies 
followed, and then came the fiéce de résistance ; the middle of 
the table was cleared and a huge dish with a sheep roasted 
whole on it was brought in. Scarcely had it touched the 
table before the Titai fell on it with a large knife and began 
hacking at it, tearing off with his left hand chunks of meat 
and of skin with fat adhering to it and giving them to us, 
This I gathered was a great honour, and I did my best to eat 
some of the freshly-killed and therefore very tough meat, 
but without much success. However, as the Titai very 
soon became too drunk to notice much, my unworthy ap- 
petite escaped comment. The occasional remarks fired at 
me by our host and translated by Harding or Fitzmaurice 
were generally to the effect that he, the Titai, had the greatest 
respect for the King of England, about whose name he seemed 
to be rather hazy, and that he had been a personal friend of 
my predecessor and proposed to be mine too ; also that he was 


88 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


on the best of terms with the President of the Chinese 
Republic, with whom he corresponded regularly, and who had 
recently asked him, as a favour, to take over the governorship 
of the Province. It was not easy to concoct suitable replies 
to these statements, and we were all thankful when, the 
barbaric meal over, Chu Tao Tai nodded to me and we were 
able to take our leave. 

A week later I gave a return feast—a bachelor affair, for 
obvious reasons—for the Titai at the Consulate. It went off 
well enough in spite of our fears lest the old man should do 
something quite impossible ; in fact, it was as good as a play. 
The Tao Tai arrived first, and what with the three-gun 
salute he received and the grand carriage and pair in which he 
dashed up to the door and the crowd of bottle-washers which 
accompanied him, there was noise and bustle enough at his 
arrival; but it was a quiet and peaceful affair compared with 
that of the Titai. Not only did the latter receive six guns, 
not only did he bring with him about a hundred soldiers and 
orderlies and hangers-on of all kinds, all armed to the teeth, 
not only did he arrive in an enormous troika at full gallop 
through the narrow streets, but he was preceded by an entire 
brass band, which dashed into the Consulate inner courtyard 
at the double, fell into line with lightning rapidity and struck 
up an ear-splitting Chinese version of ‘‘ See the Conquering 
Hero comes!” 

The old man was again wearing his Field Marshal’s uniform 
and the first thing he said to me was, “ I want you to take my 
photograph, to send to the President of the Republic!” 
Accordingly I had to take him out on to the terrace and pose 
him against the sundial while I took three portraits, being 
careful to arrange the lighting so that his face should not be 
under-exposed and so come out dark in the picture. Nosooner 
had we finished the photographing than he borrowed a measur- 
ing-tape from me and set two of his men to work measuring 
the outer walls of the Consulate. It appeared that his enor- 
mous country-house about 16 miles from Kashgar had been 
burnt down the year before, and he wanted to rebuild it on 
the lines of the British Consulate General! Throughout 
lunch his men continued to measure the walls of the dining- 
room, hall and other rooms. 

Before the meal I took the Titai to a private room to change 
his clothes—I did not want a recurrence of what had happened 
at his own party. During the meal, following his usual 


A CENTRAL ASIAN ARCADY 89 


custom, the old General was served by his own men with his 
own arrack and would touch none of my drinks. I would not 
have minded if it had not been that he kept filling my glass and 
expecting me to drink his health in the horrible stuff: I had 
suffered it at his house, but did not see why I should not drink 
what I liked in my own. He himself had been atit ever since 
about 8 a.m., Chu Tao Tai whispered to me behind his hand, and 
I could see for myself that he was about half-seas-over ; we 
were all relieved as well as surprised when suddenly, just 
before the ices, he nodded to his confidential servant and a 
second later whistles blew outside, everybody started running, 
the band struck up, the Titai got up unsteadily from the table, 
made hurried apologies and departed! He was gone before 
any of us knew where we were. 

The leading households among the Swedish missionaries 
and the Russian colony, each after the manner of their re- 
spective nations, were kindness and hospitality personified, 
and often did we sally forth in the gathering dusk to take part 
in polyglot but pleasant gatherings round boards groaning 
with the products of Scandinavian or Muscovite cuisine. At 
first we drove to these parties in the tarantass, but after an 
adventure we had in that ancient vehicle our first winter, after 
a dinner at the Swedish Mission, we took to riding. D. 
generally rode her camel Sulaiman and I one of the horses, 
well wrapped up in furs and sheepskins and our feet encased 
in high “‘ Gilgit boots”’ of leather thickly padded with felt. 
The adventure to which I refer is described in the words ofa 
letter I wrote home shortly afterwards. 


ath February, 1923. 

““D, and I had a somewhat alarming experience the other night. 
Of the two Yarkandi horses we bought for the tarantass before our 
autumn tour we sold the smaller one soon after our return, but kept 
the other, a chestnut, as it is an exceptionally strong and willing beast. 
We didn’t realize quite how willing it could be until last Friday when 
we started back from the Swedish Mission after dinner. The horse 
was always inclined to fidget at the start, but on tour he had long 
marches to do and gave little trouble. A month of good feeding 
and very little work, however, makes a lot of difference and on this 
occasion the nipping and eager air of a February night was too much 
for him. For some reason best known to themselves Turki drivers, 
including our coachman Abdulla Akhun, always start their horses 
from the ground and jump on to the box when the carriage is moving. 
We had hardly climbed into the tarantass and were waving farewells 
to our hosts, when we felt the ramshackle old conveyance bound 
forward under us; Abdulla at the horse’s head hung on like a bull- 


90 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


dog, as did the orderly, tall Asadulla Khan, on the other side, and all 
might have been well if Asadulla’s mount, infected by the carriage 
horse, had not seized the opportunity to break away, kicking up his 
heels at his rival as he passed. Out of the gateway he dashed and 
after him sprang the infuriated chestnut, brushing off Abdulla and 
Asadulla like flies against the gateposts. Over the culvert and into 
the main road we swung on two wheels, then off at full gallop towards 
the distant Consulate. You probably know what a tarantass is like 
—a big, roomy affair with a hood and a basket-work body with no 
seats, in the bottom of which you sit or lie on mattresses while the 
driver sits in a high narrow box-seat in front. The front wheels are 
very small and the back ones large; the wheel-base is very narrow 
relatively to the size of the vehicle, and it is always a mystery to me 
why the whole affair does not upset far more easily than it does. 
Anyhow, there we were lurching and swaying like a ship in a storm 
along the unmetalled and heavily-rutted road, the reins mixed up 
with the traces somewhere below the shaft and hopelessly out of my 
reach. There was nothing for it but to sit tight, hold on to each other 
and wait for the crash. We thought, of course, that the horse was 
bolting. But he wasn’t. He had merely decided to follow the other 
horse’s example and go back to his stable with the least possible delay. 
The road is awful; there are two right-angled corners between the 
Mission and the Consulate (a distance of about a mile) and, worst 
of all, a narrow wooden bridge over a canal set almost at right angles 
to the road. This bridge is not more than 12 feet broad, is very 
uneven and has no parapet or railing. We thought the horse, having 
no one to drive him, must bungle it, in which case the tarantass would 
have overturned into the dry bed of the canal with us under it. Would 
you believe it, he slowed down just enough to take the bridge, our 
off wheels clearing the corner with about six inches to spare, and 
sprinted again directly we were over? Further down he took the 
two right-angled corners fast but with plenty to spare, not cutting 
them as most horses try to do even when driven. We thus entered 
the Consulate gateway at the gallop and shot up the drive, hoping 
against hope that the horse would by force of habit pull up in front 
of the quarter-guard. He ignored it. He went straight for his stable, 
rounding two more corners and missing first the office and then a rail- 
ing by inches. Finally he came to a standstill, panting and sweating, 
in front of his stall. As you may imagine, we hopped out without 
undue delay and fell on each other’s necks, hardly able to believe 
that we stood on terra firma. What we are now saying is, why pay 
a coachman when your carriage horse can drive himself without a 
mistake ?”! 





THE HAPPY VALLEY [p. 100 


Lia ts gud ita HC 





CHAPTER VII 
THE FINDING OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 


N October 11, 1922, we started on a two anda half 
months’ tour along the south-eastern or Khotan road, 


on which the large majority of the British subjects in 
Kashgaria live. Our first long halt was to be at Yarkand, 
the largest town in Sinkiang and the entrepot for the Indian 
and Afghan trade. Other important centres which had to be 
visited were Karghalik, Goma, Khotan and Keriya, at each 
of which there was a considerable amount of judicial and 
other Consular work to be done. Keriya was the farthest 
point I proposed to reach, 413 miles from Kashgar ; the return 
journey (except for the last five stages) was to be by the same 
route, for lack of a practicable alternative. 

By the direct road Yarkand is 127 miles from Kashgar, and 
is reached in five flat and perfectly easy marches. Instead 
of going straight to Yarkand, however, I proposed to indulge 
in a little amateur exploration among the mountains to the 
south of Kashgar on the way. It will be remembered that 
when I consulted Sir Aurel Stein at Delhi in the preceding 
January, he advised me to visit certain small blank patches 
still remaining in his map of the Kashgarian highlands. Of 
these the one which most fired my imagination comprised 
the eastern flanks of the Qungur massif (25,146 feet) and the 
peaks immediately to the south-east of it, part of the wall 
of snows which, as already described, stretches so impressively 
across Kashgar’s south-western horizon. In order to gain 
access to this region it was necessary to penetrate the gorges 
of the Qaratash River, traversed in September 1913 by Stein 
alone among previous explorers} Calculating that the floods 


1In his ‘‘ Memoir on Maps of Chinese Turkistan and Kansu,” 

p. 25, Sir Aurel explains the peculiar difficulties confronting the ex- 

plorer in the Qaratash basin. During spring and summer, he says, 

the big floods from the melting snow and ice of the Muz Tagh Ata 
91 


92 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


caused by the summer melting of the snows had subsided 
sufficiently, I now proposed to spend ten days—I could not 
spare more—in an attempt to penetrate these gorges from 
below, that is to say, from the opposite direction to that from 
which Stein had attacked them. I hoped thus to reach the 
Chimghan stream, the chief affluent of the Qaratash, and 
reconnoitre up it the eastern flanks of the great Qungur 
massif as well as the mysterious range to the south-east of 
it seen by Stein from the opposite (Pamirs) side and indicated 
in his map under the name “ Shiwakte.”’ ; 
My “‘ camp office’ in charge of the Mir Munshi was to meet 
us on October 26, at Yarkand, where my official tour was to 
commence. For the Qaratash trip I engaged, at one tael 
(about 3s.) per day, seven shaggy two-humped Central Asian 
camels in charge of a fair-haired young Andijani carrier whom 
D. called Brian O’Flynn, because he wore enormous sheep- 
skin trousers “‘ with the skinny side out and the woolly side in.”’ 
Our party for the mountain trip was strengthened by the 
inclusion of one of our Russian friends, M. Paul Nazaroff, a 
geologist of Tashkend who had the distinction of being the 
only English-knowing Russian in Kashgar. Our retinue 
consisted of Hafiz, Sangi Khan and the old Lancer, Rahim 
Khan, as orderlies; Ahmad Bakhsh as butler and valet ; 
Murad Shah as cook and Yakub as “ knight of the broom ”’ 
and odd-job man. There was also a Kashgari lad, whose 
name I have forgotten, who looked after the horses. All of us 
rode horses except Yakub and the groom, for whom we hired 
a joint camel. I had the black Badakhshi stallion which had 
nearly been the end of me in Astore in June, but which was 
now much better-behaved, and D. her beloved bay Ferghana 
gelding. The camels carried three small double-fly tents 


range render the extremely confined gorges of the Qaratash River 
quite impassable; on the other hand, by the time the waters subside 
in the autumn, heavy snow on the passes at the head of the basin 
closes the approach from the south. He describes his descent through 
the gorges as “ very difficult and in places risky’? with ‘‘ constant 
crossings of the river tossing between precipitous rock walls.’ Our 
descent of these gorges in April, 1923, is described in Chapter IX. 
They extend from the mouth of the Chimghan Jilgha to Khanterek, 
about 18 miles. There is a track, now only used by opium-smugglers, 
which goes from Little L. Qarakul over the Qaratash Pass (16,338 
feet), into the upper Qaratash valley and out of it again by the Ghijaq 
Pass to Ighiz Yar and the plains. But this route, which has been 
followed by Korniloff, Stein and one or two others, crosses the Qaratash 
well above the gorges. 


THE FINDING OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 93 


with bath-room attachment and furniture complete, including 
comfortable Rurki-pattern camp beds and mattresses, valises 
containing bedding and “ yakdans’’—the pack-transport 
boxes already described—for our belongings, hurricane lan- 
terns and oil to burn in them, an extra table for meals, 
pots and pans and three yakdans of stores for the kitchen, 
a camel-load of corn for the horses, a roomy single-fly tent and 
ten days’ bread-rations for the men, plane-table and other 
survey instruments, shot-guns and cartridges and, last but not 
least, a tin-lined wooden bath-tub of immense solidity con- 
structed under my supervision by our Kashgari carpenter, 
with two oil-tins fitted with handles to heat the bath-water in. 
It will thus be seen that we made no attempt to travel light. 
Personally, though I have roughed it often enough, I am no 
believer in what I call the “ toothbrush theory ”’ of travel, 
except where economy of time or money is essential. Many 
travellers in wild parts, even Government servants in receipt 
of a fixed and liberal travelling allowance, either pride them- 
selves on dispensing with baths and clean shirts and undergoing 
all sorts of unnecessary hardships, or, more often, adopt a 
fatalistic attitude and say “‘ You’ve got to rough it anyhow ; 
trekking is always uncomfortable compared with home ; more 
kit and servants, more bother ; better go the whole hog, travel 
light and get back to civilization as quickly as youcan.’’ Well, 
maybe mine is not the stuff that pioneers are made of, but 
I always try to take a reasonable amount of civilization into 
camp with me. I find that regular and properly-cooked meals, 
pillows and a real mattress (albeit stuffed with cotton from 
the bazaar) and daily baths, if only in a canvas tub, make such 
a difference to my enjoyment of travel that they are worth 
far more than the extra trouble and expense involved. D.’s 
views are the same, and she took a legitimate pride in the 
fact that throughout all our travels, accidents excepted, we 
invariably had early tea, hot breakfast with tea or coffee, 
plenty of variety in our sandwich lunches, afternoon tea and a 
three-course dinner with coffee after it. We were seldom 
without English bread and green vegetables ; we used to start 
off with a good supply of Daud’s loaves and a sack of vege- 
tables, after which the couriers who came out after us weekly 
from Kashgar with our letters and official mail brought more 
bread, plum-cake and green vegetables. Spinach and 
potatoes could be obtained in most towns; chickens and eggs 
at every village of the plains; mutton and dairy produce 


94 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


everywhere, even among the wildest mountains, When out of 
reach of bread D. set to and baked girdle scones, three or 
four dozen at a time, also small sponge and chocolate cakes 
and puff pastry for sausage rolls and jam turn-overs. Some 
of her most successful puff pastry was made on or near glaciers 
because, she explained, there was plenty of iced water handy 
with which to chill the ingredients and her fingers! All this 
entails what we in India call ‘‘ bundobust,’’ and makes for an 
unwieldy caravan according to the standards of toothbrush 
travel. But it must be remembered that in Muhammadan 
countries at any rate—I can speak for no others—one’s 
prestige (and therefore that of the country one represents) 
depends very much upon the size of one’s caravan. Nobody 
gives one any credit for being a hardy traveller and a lover of 
the simple life; it is merely supposed that one is not a real 
“sahib’”’ and cannot afford to travel better. 

Our first halt was at Yapchan on the main Yarkand road, 
from which we turned southwards across country towards the 
mountains, still hidden from us by the dust-haze of summer. 
At Akhtur Bazaar, where we were interested to find the 
remains of an ancient fortress of considerable size, we crossed 
for the first time the Qaratash River, here a wide, shallow 
stream flowing through meadows and cornfields. Thence the 
track led for five miles through well-timbered arable land and 
then emerged on a gently-sloping gravel desert, evidently the 
alluvial fan of the same river. Traversing this for seven miles 
we came to the head of the Altunluk (‘‘ Golden ’’) oasis at the 
debouchure of the Qaratash from the foothills. For our adven- 
tures during the next nine days I quote from my letters home, 
which I have cast into diary form. — 


Aliunluk, 13th October, 1922. 

Our tents are pitched in a pleasant little orchard gay with autumn 
tints. I have just been in long conclave with the villagers and old 
Sabit Beg, who has been sent with us by the Amban of Yangi Hissar. 
Sabit, I gather, is the Beg of the Qaratash Valley and responsible 
for the collection of revenue from the Kirghiz; he is a nice old person, 
though rather excitable. We shall get on well, I think, but in the 
meantime he is being rather obstructive, having obviously put up 
the villagers to tell me that we cannot possibly go up the Qaratash 
—floods, ice, precipices, no paths, no food, etc., etc. Every one is 
trying to frighten us. However they have to admit that the season 
is well advanced and the water a good deal down, I fancy that 
whenever one leaves the beaten track in this country the local people 
and their Beg take this line; one can understand their point of view, 
because the Chinese always come down heavily on the Beg concerned 


THE FINDING OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 95 


if anything happens to a foreigner travelling in the districts, and 
the Beg takes it out of the local people. Anyhow I propose to push 
up the river as far as we can get to-morrow. For all we can see of 
the mountains we might be in the middle of the Takla Makan; the 
accursed dust-haze which has hidden them ever since July is as bad 
as ever. 


Saman, 14th October. 

We have done well to-day, covering some 22 miles up the ever- 
narrowing valley of the Qaratash. We forded the river without 
difficulty 8 miles above Altunluk and continued for 9 miles along 
the left bank among bare, gradually-rising foothills. At only one 
place, about a mile and a half from here, was there any difficulty ; 
at a point where the river breaks through a ridge of red sandstone 
the left bank becomes precipitous and we had to cross and recross 
the stream which was there much narrower, deeper and swifter than 
at our first ford. Here at Saman the left bank is wide and easy again 
and the river flows in a broad, straight reach about 5 miles long 
with steep red hills on either side. This is the first place where we 
have seen any traces of occupation by the Kirghiz of the mountains ; 
there are two tumbledown crofts and a few acres of arable land, once 
under the plough but now deserted, and a pleasant little grove of 
planes and toghvak or desert poplar by which we are camped. No 
Kirghiz have appeared yet. 


Bash Kupruk, 15th October. 

We started comfortably enough to-day with 4 miles easy marching 
along flat terraces; then came more “ narrows,’’ with the track 
twisting among boulders at the very edge of the water which raced 
past us at about 15 miles an hour. At one place we had to 
‘* ford’ a pool full of eddies where a corner of rock jutted out into 
the stream, Then the valley suddenly widened out again and we 
came to a pretty place called Khanterek or Qurghan (gurghan = 
fort, from which I gather this strategic point was once fortified, in 
the days when the hill people had to defend themselves from the 
men of the plains). There is a ¢am (lit. wall) or mud-brick farm- 
house here, with a little orchard of apricots and fields from which 
crops have only lately been reaped; I am told that there ought to be 
Kirghiz here, but they evidently think we have come to eat them, 
for there is not a soul to be seen. This is the winter headquarters, 
they say, of the Kirghiz of two or three glens above here. Close by 
the river flows through a deep narrow cut with a high cliff on the further 
side; here there is the first bridge we have seen, a curious affair of 
which the nearer end is built out on the cantilever system quite 
cleverly, while the other ends of the three tree-trunks which form 
the bridge rest on a ledge of the opposite cliff. Above the bridge 
is carried an aqueduct consisting of hollowed tree-trunks which takes 
eee to a couple of farms below the bridge on the other side of the 

ver. 

A mile further up we crossed the river by a wide and easy ford 
and kept up the right bank towards what looked like a blank wall 
of mountain many thousands of feet high. We could not see how the 
stream came out of it until we were quite close to the mouth of the 


96 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


Tiigene Tar or ‘‘ Camel’s Gorge,” so called I suppose because only 
the long-legged camel is happy in it. In this gorge we had to cross 
the river nine times, and each time it was more unpleasant doing it 
on horseback than the last. D.’s old bay horse is splendid in water, 
as he is well-bred and a high-stepper and so keeps his feet well; but 
my black is a stumbler on dry land, as I know to my cost, and in 
the deeper parts of the current he lurches all over the place. Several 
times he lost his footing and I found myself up to the waist in the cold 
Qaratash. Luckily the bottom is good at most of the fords and none 
of the horses were swept down-stream ; most Kashgar horses indeed 
are adepts at crossing rivers, thanks to the practice they get. 

A fortnight ago, the Beg says, we could not have got up even as 
far as this with horses. I asked him how the Kirghiz get through 
these gorges in summer when the water is too high even for camels ; 
he said that they go on foot, and pointed up to what looked like half 
a dozen matches spilt over the cliff-face far above us. This, he ex- 
plained, was a Kirghiz summer ‘‘road,’’ t.e. thin tree-trunks laid along 
from ledge to ledge of the precipice, a most terrifying affair. | 

Just before entering the gorge we came upon chikor (red-legged 
partridge), and I got two or three, much to the housekeeper’s delight. 
On the opposite side of the river we at last saw signs of present human 
occupation, the smoke of a camp-fire; I was told that there was a 
coal-mine there which is worked by the Chinese military authorities 
with local labour, The ‘“‘ mine’’ appears to be a tiny affair, a mere: 
surface working employing a dozen men or So. 

It was six o’clock before we came to a possible camping place here 
at Bash Kupruk and we were thankful for the partial shelter of a 
thicket of tamarisk and willow in which to pitch our tents. There 
is a deserted Kirghiz hut, too, for the men. An icy night-wind sweeps 
down the gorge, which they say is even narrower and more difficult 
ahead, so as there is plenty of firewood and grazing for the camels 
I have decided to halt here for a day or two and give the animals a 
rest. We are 7,000 feet up here according to my aneroid, and the cold 
dry autumn weather has evidently set in; even at Saman this morn- 
ing, at 6,000 feet, our sponges were frozen hard. However, dry cold 
is better than either rain or the thick, hazy summer atmosphere, 
and there are welcome signs that the air is clearing of dust-haze; 
this morning when we got up we were delighted with the sight from 
our tents of a magnificent snow-peak rising dimly but grandly above 
the river-valley straight in front of us. We soon lost sight of it behind 
nearer heights as we marched on, but there it is, quite close to us. 
Can it be one of the Shiwakte peaks ? 


Bash Kupruk, 16th October. 


The mountains here are mostly unclimbable except for a properly- 
equipped Alpine climbing party, but this morning I noticed, about 
a mile up-river, a spur coming down from the west which seemed 
comparatively easy. Stein in his traverse of the Qaratash gorge 
marks here a_side-valley called the Kaying Jilgha, which goes right 
up into the blank patch to the east of Qungur. I accordingly took 
Hafiz and a Kirghiz guide whom the Beg has managed to collect 
from somewhere and set up my plane-table first at the mouth of the 


66 °d] TCOI “UHAOLOO ‘AATIVA DNIAVM AHL NI HOUVW AHE NO ONILUVIS 





A vt iy | 

ei yah 

: at 4‘ Cots ate n 
t ia 1) PaKe eve 


: At - yy 
ota i o\ TOAD 


q 
e 


Roe Nt 
iw ee 3 >) 
ae 





THE FINDING OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 97 


Kaying Jilgha (glen) and then at a point about 2,000 feet up the 
spur. From here we got a tantalizing and rather hazy view of fine 
snow-clad peaks not more than 7 or 8 miles away to the west, 
apparently enclosing the head of the Kaying Jilgha. I drew rays 
to all the peaks I could see on both sides of the main valley; the 
only one which looked at all climbable on our side was a high double- 
peaked mass of dark grey limestone opposite me across the Kaying 
glen, which I have identified as Stein’s ‘‘ Kaying Beli,’ the last peak 
shown in this direction in his map. Though fearfully steep and in 
places precipitous, I think I can manage it with Sangi Khan to help, 
and am going to have a try to-morrow. With any luck I ought to 
see the Shiwakte and the east face of Qungur from the top. 

The prospects of our getting through to Chimghan are not bright. 
I sent Rahim Khan up to reconnoitre to-day, and he has come back 
with a most gloomy account of the gorge. He says that further up 
the cliffs almost meet overhead and you have to march actually in 
the river, which completely fills the gorge. Finally he was held up 
by deep water. The Kirghiz guide says that it is not possible for 
animals to get up to Chimghan for another month. Of course they 
may all be exaggerating in order to prevent us going further, but it 
is not worth while risking our lives or our animals’, so I have decided 
to give up the Chimghan idea and reconnoitre up the Kaying Jilgha 
instead. From what I saw to-day the Kaying gorge looks quite 
practicable, and the Kirghiz say the stream is harmless at this time 
of year. 

D. and Nazaroff sportingly went all the way back with Sangi Khan 
to the mouth of the Tugene Tar to-day to try and get some more of 
those partridges, but came back with nothing but wet feet from the 
crossings. 


Kaying Yailaq, 18th October. 


Yesterday Sangi Khan, a Kirghiz lad and I did the stiffest rock- 
climb I have ever been faced with, five thousand feet without a break. 
Leaving camp at seven, we rode two miles up the Kaying Jilgha to 
a height of 7,800 feet and then, leaving our ponies to graze, struck up 
the mountain-side. Loose scree at an angle of 35° led up to cliffs, up 
which we scrambled laboriously, hauling up the plane-table and cameras 
from rock torock. It was hard work and in places really difficult, but so 
magnificent was the panorama which unfolded itself as we went up that 
I was scarcely conscious of the fact. Half-way up I could already 
see away to the south-west, right in the middle of the blank patch 
on the map, a glittering array of peaks which can be none other than 
the Shiwakte. Finally at midday we came out on to a splintered 
pinnacle of rock which formed the eastern summit of Kaying Beli, 
at a height of 12,750 feet by my aneroid, i.e. nearly 5,000 feet above 
the bottom of the Kaying Jilgha. There was no snow, and it was 
delicious basking in the sun on the dry rocks on a perfect day, with 
a most amazing array of snow-peaks round two-thirds of the horizon. 
We all three ate our lunches, each according to our kind, contentedly, 
and then, while the men lolled about and talked and smoked cigarettes 
presented them by D., I perched my plane-table on a slab of rock 

7 


98 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


and spent nearly three hours taking rays to all the chief points and 
a long panorama with my quarter-plate film-camera, Unfortunately 
the higher peaks, which on the way up had been clear, had already 
by midday begun to veil themselves in cloud and also to a certain 
extent in dust-haze, but I could see them well enough for survey 
purposes and the panorama ought to be some use if it comes out. 
I am going to develop it this evening. The most exciting part of 
the view was to the west, where to the right of the dim Shiwakte 
peaks there was a great accumulation of cloud from which at one 
point peeped the butt-end of a mighty ridge of ice, beyond and 
obviously far higher than the Shiwakte, though they were evidently 
not less than 20,000 feet high. It could be no other than Qungur, 
and it is just my luck that I should have had so tantalizingly small 
a glimpse after such a tremendous climb, Right across the southern 
sky stretch a forest of peaks with huge glaciers coming down from 
them, not so high as the Shiwakte but going up, I should say, to 
eighteen or nineteen thousand, beyond which must be the big Chim- 
ghan Jilgha indicated (but not explored) by Stein. To the south- 
east was another range no less fine, that to the east of the Qaratash 
valley. To the north I could make out the whole lower course of the 
Qaratash for 30 miles, and beyond its mouth at Altunluk, dimly, the 
plains. 

It was past three when I tore myself away from that slab of rock, 
too late for safety as it turned out; for the descent (as often happens) 
proved much worse than the ascent. I wanted to go back the same 
way we had come, but the guide insisted on taking a short cut. The 
result was that after being several times in difficulties we found our- 
selves at sunset on the edge of a sixty-foot drop into the ravine we 
had ascended in the morning. There seemed no way down, and we 
were faced with the prospect of a chilly night on the waterless crags 
of Kaying Beli; for there was not time before dark to climb half- 
way up the mountain again and find another way down. On our 
left a short grass slope pitched at an angle of 45° disappeared round 
the corner, and we crawled round this in the hopes of finding an 
easier way down into the ravine, but we had to crawl back again; 
it was worse beyond. On the way, however, I noticed a crack in 
the rock-face with a small bush growing in it, which promised a pos- 
sible route; I pointed it out to Sangi Khan, who had kept his head 
admirably and proved invaluable throughout the climb. He at once 
took a firm grip of a tuft of grass and let himself over the edge into 
the crack. Working down it, he tested the bush and reported it strong 
enough to bear his weight. Peering over the edge, I could see him 
in the failing light for what seemed an age, hanging on to the bush 
with his hands and feeling with his feet for further footholds. Finally 
to my relief he shouted up that it was all right, so I followed, taking 
the plane-table and other impedimenta from the Kirghiz guide and 
handing them down to Sangi Khan. Helping each other with foot- 
and hand-holds we all three worked down the crag, till finally with 
many Alhamdu’l illahs and Khuda-gha shukrias + we found ourselves 





1 Arabic and Turki respectively for ‘‘ Praise be to God ”’ and ‘‘ Thanks 
be to God.” 


THE FINDING OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 99 


in the bed of the ravine. Even then our troubles were by no means 
over, for there were two or three ‘‘ dry waterfalls’? to negotiate, 
and it was quite dark before we at last reached the valley-bottom of 
the Kaying Jilgha. 

It was past eight o’clock when we were met a mile from camp by 
D. and Nazaroff, who had come out with lamps and a search-party. 
They greeted me with the interesting news that they had spent the 
day, as arranged, in a reconnaissance up the Kaying Jilgha; that 
the gorge was practicable for our convoy, and that two hours’ march 
up it the jilgha widened into a comparatively broad valley, containing 
firs and rich pastures and encircled by magnificent snow-peaks. The 
Beg and Rahim Khan, who had accompanied them, had evidently 
conspired together to put D. off, for at each corner they had gone 
ahead and pronounced the way hopelessly blocked ; but she gallantly 
insisted on pushing on, and finally was rewarded not only with the 
above-mentioned view but with the sight of Kirghiz tents with people, 
even women, in them. These were the first Kirghiz, other than one 
or two guides impressed by the Beg, whom any of us had seen, and 
D, and Nazaroff only found them because they had not expected 
any of our party to come up so far and therefore had -not had time 
to escape to still remoter fastnesses, Evidently the Kirghiz imagine 
us to be the Titai or somebody out to rob them or make them work 
in mines. The Kaying Kirghiz, finding that the strangers were not 
so terrifying after all and reassured by the Beg as to our intentions, 
warmly invited us all to come up the jilgha, and offered us supplies 
and tents to sleep in if we wanted them. 

Accordingly this morning we moved up here and are camped in three 
Kirghiz tents in a sunny corner under a cliff at the lower end of a wonder- 
ful amphitheatre, about a mile and a half wide. Extraordinary spires 
of black rock tower four or five thousand feet above us; and away 
at the head of the valley is a glittering vision, clad in pure white névé 
and pale-green hanging glaciers, which I recognize as one of the Shi- 
wakte peaks I saw yesterday from the top of Kaying Beli. We have 
left half our caravan, including the tents, in charge of Ahmad Bakhsh 
and Rahim Khan at Bash Kupruk in order to lighten our baggage. 
We are not exactly comfortable, as our kind hosts are very poor 
and the felts of their tents are full of holes which let the icy wind 
into every cranny and made the bath problem a difficult one; but 
what does it matter ? The weather is perfect, the Kirghiz are charm- 
ing, and we are well into the blank patch on the map—what more 
could one want? 


Kaying Yailaq, 19th October, 1922. 

The thermometer stood at 10° F. when we woke up this morning, 
and getting up would have been most unpleasant if it had not been 
for an admirable invention of my old “ bearer’? Amar Singh’s, which 
saves the situation on such occasions—the fire-bucket. This simply 
consists of the kitchen bucket filled with glowing embers and placed 
in one’s tent, which it instantly transforms from an ice-house into 
an ingle-nook. The length of time it keeps the tent in this desirable 
condition depends on the kind of firewood; poplar, the universal 
firewood of the plains, loses its heat rapidly, but juniper, fir,and even 


100 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


the brushwood roots of the hills keep one snug for hours. Of course, 
it is advisable to put the fire-bucket out of the tent before getting into 
bed, because of the charcoal fumes given off; but if one’s bed is as 
it should be and one starts the night thoroughly warm, it does not 
matter how cold it becomes later. 

At half-past nine the shadow of one of the great aiguilles moved 
off us and the sun flooded our corner of the valley with delicious 
warmth. The dust-haze has entirely disappeared and the intense 
clarity and brilliance of the weather remind us of the Pamirs in July. 
At the gentlemanly hour of ten we rode off in high spirits to explore 
the head of the valley. A mile from camp we entered a wood of 
junipers, fine tall trees some of them like those of Baluchistan, in which 
there were many hares and partridges. We were filing along through 
the wood, expecting it to tail off into barren hill-sides, when suddenly 
we topped a rise and saw before us, filling the whole of the valley 
right up to the foot of the black precipices, a fine forest of tall firs, 
their deep shade contrasting perfectly with the brilliant snows of the 
Shiwakte behind and with the white foaming flood of the Kaying 
river in the foreground. This forest had been hidden from our camp, 
from which we had only seen a few firs up a side-glen, and was totally 
unexpected ; it is indeed a find, for we have seen nothing like a forest 
since we left Kashmir and had no idea there were any on this side 
of the Karakoram nearer than the Tien Shan. The trees, some of 
which must be more than a hundred feet high, are like tall, slender 
Wellingtonias and are different from anything I have seen in the 
Himalayas. 

On a sheltered alpine meadow below the forest we changed our 
saddles on to riding-yaks which the friendly Kirghiz had brought 
to relieve our horses, saying that the path became very steep further 
up. They were fine yaks and took us at a good pace—for yaks—up 
through the forest glades. Passing two or three more grassy alps, 
with tremendous aiguilles and cliffs with fantastically-twisted strata 
towering higher and higher above our heads, we came to wide, sheltered 
meadows at Kaying Bashi Yailaq, 7.e. “‘ the summer grazings at the 
head of the K. Jilgha.’”’ More firs, and then at 12,000 feet we came 
out on to grassy knolls above the highest verge of the forest. Another 
surprise! There in front of us, curving down in a grand sweep from 
unknown heights round to the left, was a huge glacier, on the terminal 
moraine of which we were standing. High above us on our right we 
could see the ice-fall of another glacier at a higher level; between the 
two soared the pinnacles and hanging glaciers of the Shiwakte, seven 


1 While on this subject, it is worth remembering that on a really 
draughty night it is not enough to have plenty of bedclothes on 
top of one; what is under one is just as important. I did not know 
this when I first started trekking in South Persia in winter; the first 
night I spent at 9,000 feet I could not keep warm and hardly slept 
a wink. I piled all my clothes and everything in the tent on. top 
of me, down to the bathroom mat, but continued to shiver. Next 
night it occurred to me to put a sheepskin under my thin cotton- 
stuffed mattress, and the difference was astonishing; I was as snug 
as could be. 


MVA MAH NO ‘a ‘vHoOTIL 
VHDTI[ DNIAVM ‘VLVULS ANOLSAWIT ,, GAdIO4 ,, ONIAVH UWAddN AHL AO ,, ANOUIO WMAIOVID AHL NI 


” 





Ay sg 
thine mT oe / dp 


r aD 
+ 


He Wi ee 





THE FINDING OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 101 


or eight thousand feet above us and quite close. Determined to 
climb as high as we could before returning, we pushed up the moraine, 
which we finally lost at 13,100 feet amid a tumbled waste of boulders 
covering the ice of the glaciers themselves. Here we sat on the last 
bit of dry grass for half an hour basking in the sun, with a magnificent 
array of peaks towering above us on every side. Far below us we 
could see the forest and the milk-white glacier-stream curving away 
behind tremendous black pinnacles, which we have christened the 
“‘ Cathedral Spires,’? towards the gorge of the Qaratash. Above us, 
there was only one corner of the amphitheatre of cliffs which was 
hidden and looked as if it might contain a possible pass out of the 
valley ; I asked the Kirghiz about it and they said that there was 
a pass but that it was very steep and covered with ice, and could 
only be crossed by men on foot, not yaks, during two or three months 
in summer. This was interesting, and the next question was, where 
did it lead to? To the Chimghan Jilgha, they said. This was posi- 
tively exciting, for it meant that there was a way by which the 
Qaratash gorges could be ‘‘ turned”? in summer and the Chimghan 
Jilgha reached from the Kaying valley at the best time of year. If 
only we can get up here next summer, perhaps on the way down to 
India! One thing seems quite certain, and that is that I cannot 
reach the foot of Qungur by this route unless I cross that pass; for 
the Kirghiz are quite positive that it is impossible to climb out of the 
valley in the direction of the ‘“ Muz Tagh”’ (ice mountain) at any 
other point. They simply do not know what there is the other side 
of the ice-cliffs to the west. 

To-morrow if it keeps fine I am going to do one more big climb 
in the hopes of seeing Qungur, and then we must tear ourselves away 
from our ‘‘Happy Valley,’’ for we are due at Yarkand on the 26th 
and are already likely to be late. The Kirghiz say there is a steep 
but easy pass above our camp leading over into the Chopkana Jilgha 
which comes out close to Khanterek, so we are going back by it with 
yaks and sending our tents and camels down to meet us at Khanterek. 
By this means we shall not only avoid the wearisome river-crossings 
in the gorges but strike interesting new ground, for they say there 
are Kirghiz and fir-woods in the Chopkana Jilgha. 


Kaying Yailag, 20th October, 1922. 


To-day I climbed with Sangi Khan and two Kirghiz carrying my 
plane-table and cameras to a height of 13,430 feet on a splintered 
rock-ridge called Nichke Qir, immediately under a high chisel-shaped 
peak called K6k Déng to the west of this camp, the same, I think, as 
the beautiful mountain we saw from Saman. The climb, though 
excessively steep, was not so difficult as that of Kaying Beli, but I 
did not get quite so high as I had hoped; the summit I was making 
for proved inaccessible and I had to be content with a lower one. 
However, I was just high enough to see the upper half of the glittering 
dome of Qungur appearing like a vast Christmas cake over the jagged 
top of the K6k Dong ridge. I took a telephoto of it with one of the 
very few slow plates I have with me, which, if it comes out, will be 
the only photo in existence of the east side of Qungur. Stein’s are all 
from the Pamirs. The panorama I took from Kaying Beli came out 


102 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


very well, and the negatives of it which I took up with me to-day 
were most useful in enabling me to identify the various peaks. Again 
I spent three hours on the top, mapping and photographing, but this 
time there were no contretemps on the way down and we returned 
to camp before sunset. D. and Nazaroff have had a good day too. 
They went out shooting rock-pigeons this morning and got two each, 
and in the afternoon D. gave a tea-party to the Kirghiz women and 
children of the valley. This has caused great excitement. Seven 
women and two children came, all there are in the valley, bringing 
their own wooden bowls like school-children their mugs to a treat. 
D. had plenty of bread baked for the occasion in one of the aq-ois and 
had also made some drop-scones herself ; she bought quantities of rich 
yaks’ milk in the morning and used up in the tea most of our remaining 
supply of sugar, which the ladies with squeaks of delight scooped 
with their fingers out of the bottom of their bowls. 


Khanterek, 21st October, 1922. 


All the Kirghiz, including D.’s guests of yesterday, came to see us 
off this morning and seemed genuinely sorry to bid us adieu, begging 
us to come again next year. The Chopkana pass proved 11,500 feet 
high and fairly easy, though loaded camels could not have crossed 
it. At the top, under the crags of Kaying Beli, I went after a covey 
of snow-cock, which the Kirghiz call ulai, but they were far too wild. 
This bird seems to be the same as the vam chikory of the Himalayas, 
and is the size of a bustard; he is a true partridge and is marked 
like a chikor, but, living like the ptarmigan on or near the snow-line, 
he has more white about him. His bill is curved like a hawk’s, very 
curious in a partridge. Just below the pass on the north side is the 
highest summer yaildg or camping-place of the Kirghiz, a pretty 
“‘alp”’ with firs; there was nobody there, but a mile further down 
at Ui-chi we found small crofts and tents and three or four families 
of Kirghiz. Two of the women wore most wonderful head-dresses, 
peaked fore and aft and garnished with red embroidery, quite different 
from the flat-topped turbans of the ladies of the Pamirs. Apparently 
only the richer ones wear this curious head-dress. All the Kirghiz 
crowded round D. for medicine; her daily ‘‘ sick parade’’ has become 
quite an institution and is probably the chief reason of our popularity. 

The Chopkana people have brought down an ag-o for us to the little 
apricot grove by the bridge. We have come down 3,000 feet from 
Kaying and 5,000 from the top of the pass, and the warmth in this 
sheltered spot is delightful. To-morrow the caravan goes to Saman 
only, as we want to reconnoitre the Achiq Jilgha, a side-glen at the 
top of which I am told there is a pass leading over the Gez River and 
the main winter road between Kashgar and the Pamirs. 

The problems of travel in the wilds have been enormously simplified 
for us on this pioneer trip by the admirable behaviour of our men, 
all of whom work splendidly so that everything runs with clockwork 
precision. Our programme on an average march is as follows. At 
seven Ahmad Bakhsh brings tea to our respective tents, shortly fol- 
lowed by Yakub and the tub. Yakub has had the bath-water sim- 
mering in its oil-tins on his own particular fire since the night before ; 
the same tins provide the hot water required in the kitchen. By 


THE FINDING OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 103 


8.15 we are both dressed, our bags and basins packed and (with the 
help of the orderlies) our beddings rolled up. Meanwhile the breakfast- 
table has been laid in a sunny corner well away from the tents and 
we sit-down to it, while the orderlies strike the tents, take down the 
beds and other camp furniture and tie the whole lot up into the regular 
loads. Breakfast over, the kitchen is packed up by Ahmad Bakhsh 
and Murad while we superintend the loading of the camels by the 
carriers assisted by Hafiz and Sangi Khan, who are themselves expert 
loaders by this time. The kitchen loads are tied on last and by 9.30 
if not sooner the caravan is ready to start; the groom brings the 
horses ready saddled and we are off. I always make a point of seeing 
the caravan off in the mornings, as well as of “ nursing’ it through 
difficult places, gorges, river-crossings,and soon. Two orderlies accom- 
pany D, and myself each day and the third marches with the caravan ; 
the two who accompany us carry the lunch-bag, guns and cartridges, 
binoculars, tea-basket, cameras and surveying instruments, if required. 
Most of these things go into a big camel-khurjin (saddle-bags) slung 
over the saddle of one of the orderlies. We ride within sight of the 
caravan, keeping it up to the mark as regards pace, until about noon, 
when we push forward, trotting, cantering and walking by turns till 
one. Then we have our lunch in some suitable spot, always followed 
by a piece of chocolate from England (I am responsible for this item 
in the commissariat) and a cigarette, and wait till the caravan has 
passed through. The same process is repeated in the afternoon; 
we ride with the caravan for some time, then go ahead and find a 
good place for tea-basket tea, during which function the caravan 
passes through. To expedite the making of tea we always have an 
“‘unbreakable’’ thermos bottle of hot water with us. Sometimes 
the caravan is in by 5 p.m., but more often not before six or later ; 
on these occasions, wherever we are, the tents are up, beds made 
and furniture in position within three-quarters of an hour and we 
are sitting down to dinner in less than half an hour after that. This 
is because everybody knows his job and does it, including D. and my- 
self; she puts up the lighter chairs and tables while I help with the 
tents and afterwards with the Rurki-pattern beds, which are rather 
troublesome to put up though so comfortable as to be well worth the 
trouble. 


At Khanterek we were once more on the road by which 
we had come up, and our journey from that place to Yarkand 
does not merit detailed description. The Kirghiz of the glens 
above Khanterek seemed no less sorry to see the last of us 
than those of Kaying, an attitude which contrasted pleas- 
ingly with the nervousness and distrust with which they had 
watched us penetrate their fastnesses. We took a particular 
liking to these unsophisticated folk, none of whom probably 
had ever seen a European before—certainly none of the women. 
They were friendly, hospitable, cheerful and above all natural 
—unselfconscious and unspoilt. Most travellers who have 
come to Kashgar by the main routes have had little to say 


104 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


about the Kirghiz, and that little uncomplimentary ; this is 
probably because the Kirghiz living on main routes become 
sophisticated by contact with the outside world, and in their 
dealings with travellers of all kinds and with their Chinese 
masters develop qualities such as greed and untruthfulness 
not usually found in those inhabiting almost inaccessible 
valleys off the beaten track. 

We carried out one more small reconnaissance before 
leaving the hills, exploring a side-glen a mile below Khanterek 
called the Achiq Jilgha, so named from a copious spring of 
water impregnated with carbonic acid which it contains. We 
found an excessively steep but not dangerous pass at the top 
leading over to a side-valley of the Gez River, a discovery of 
some interest as it meant that we could, if necessary, reach 
Kaying in the high-water season by going by the “ Nine 
Passes ’’ route up the Gez Valley and then crossing over into 
the Qaratash Valley above the Narrows. We stayed too long 
basking in the sun on a grassy hill-top near the summit of the 
pass, with the result that we were overtaken by darkness while 
still five miles from Saman and had an unpleasant experience 
picking our way in the dark among rough boulders under 
cliffs at the very edge of the foaming river which gleamed 
white and hungry in the starlight. Next day we had an 
uneventful march to Kampar, a pleasant village gay with 
autumn tints on the southern slope of a range of gravel foothills, 
from which we had a magnificent view of the mountains we 
had left behind us. The needle peaks of the Shiwakte were 
there and chisel-shaped K6k Dong, and towering away behind, 
dwarfing them all, the great white dome of Qungur. 

Here Nazaroff left us, as he had to return to Kashgar. 
After a day’s halt to rest the animals, we marched in one day 
33 miles to Ighiz Yar by an unsurveyed but perfectly straight- 
forward route. Another march, this time of 16 miles only, 
brought us to the dusty village of Kizil Bazar on the 
main Kashgar-Yarkand road. Next day we had another 
long ride of 28 miles across gravel desert to the first oasis 
of the Yarkand District, Kok Rabat, 22 miles from the city. 


CHAPTER VIII 


YARKAND, KHOTAN AND BEYOND 


OR variety, charm and old-world interest the road to 
Fk Khotan and Keriya is perhaps unsurpassed in Central 

Asia, and I would like nothing better than to be able to 
devote half a dozen chapters toit. But itis relatively speaking 
a well-beaten track, and I must confine myself to impres- 
sions and experiences which differ from or supplement those 
of other travellers.1 Yarkand and the Khotan road have 
changed little since Sir Aurel Stein’s first journey in 1900, and 
still less since 1915, when Miss Sykes visited the latter place 
with her distinguished brother. D. and I sampled most of 
the same inns, rest-houses and private “ gardens”’ as they, 
sat through the same endless but usually amusing Chinese 
banquets, sipped tea and made polyglot conversation at the 
same frequent wayside receptions, gazed on the same kaleido- 
scopic bazaar crowds and revelled in the same rich-hued 
countrysides and limitless desert horizons. 

Owing to the lateness of the season our stay at Yarkand 
was limited on the outward journey to eleven days, to the 
disappointment of the numerous British subjects of different 
races to whom a visit from their Consul-General is a great event. 
We were not so fortunate as Sir A. Stein, who resided in what 
had once been the palace of Niaz Hakim Beg, last indigenous 
ruler of Khotan ; that interesting relic of past times had, we 
were told, fallen to ruin, and we occupied a pleasant though 
somewhat draughty little country-house in a garden known 
as the Bar Gah, just far enough from the bazaars to be quiet 
and “‘countryfied.” Bryan O’Flynn and the camels were 
paid off here and carts engaged for our 200-mile journey to 
Khotan along the edge of the Takla Makan Desert. This 

1 For a description of the Kashgar-Yarkand-Khotan road, see Stein, 
‘““Sand-buried Ruins of Khotan’’?; Miss Sykes, ‘‘ Through Deserts 
and Oases of Central Asia.” 

105 


106 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


occupied nine marches, besides which we halted six days at 
Karghalik and one at Goma, 41 and 98 miles respectively 
from Yarkand. At Khotan we stayed four days as the guests 
of Khan Sahib Badruddin Khan, an old friend and assistant of 
Sir Aurel Stein’s in his archeological work in the Khotan 
and Keriya oases. The following extracts from diaries and 
letters cover the period from our arrival at Yarkand on 28th 
October to our departure from Khotan for Keriya on 28th 
November 1922. 


Yarkand, 20th October, 1922. 


Our arrival at Yarkand yesterday was obviously an event of the 
first importance. The excitement was far greater and the reception 
preparations more elaborate than when we came*to Kashgar last 
July; I suppose they are comparatively blasés about Consuls at 
Kashgar. The Aqsaqal, Tilla Khan, actually met us on the Kashgar 
side of Kok Rabat the day before, twenty-five miles from the city; 
he is a Maulai of Wakhan and speaks no Urdu, only Persian. Fifteen 
miles from the city a large party of Hindus and Muhammadans met 
us on the road, chiefly, I gather, gentlemen with axes to grind. The 
real ‘“‘ British Subjects’ Chah-jan”’ or tea-drinking was by the side 
of a canal 3 miles from the Kashgar Gate of the city. Here we 
found about a hundred people, representing thirteen or fourteen differ- 
ent races, awaiting us, Hindus and Muslims, Punjabis and Afghans, 
Kashmiris and Sindhis and Chitralis, and even one Armenian, a most 
respectable gentleman in a Homburg hat! 

Among them was a charming, youngish, rather shy, obviously 
intelligent and well-educated Yarkandi called Murad Qari, to whom 
I have already taken a liking; he is the son by a Turki mother of a 
famous former British Aqsagal, Khan Bahadur Mulla Sabit. We all 
partook of tea and the usual fruits of the earth in large quantities, and 
then, after a suitable speech in my best Persian, a remarkable proces- 
sion formed up for the march into Yarkand. Except for some of the 
fatter Hindu bunnias (traders) who came in Chinese carts, all the 
British subjects were mounted, the poorer ones on donkeys and the 
rest on horses, and some of the steeds borrowed for the occasion were 
barely manageable. I was not surprised, therefore, when our Head 
Clerk, Nasir, begged me in a stage whisper to refrain from exceeding 
the pace of a slow trot, because once when a Consul-General had 
cantered on such an occasion half the horses bolted and several loyal 
British subjects bit the dust! Accordingly D. and I set a safe pace 
and though, even so, miniature cavalry charges threatened occasionally 
to engulf us from the rear, no unseemly contretemps occurred as we 
“* processed,’’ smothered in dust, for two miles along the dusty willow- 
fringed highway. The first sign of further excitements was a parade 
of what, in the distance, we at first took for the Chinese army but 
found on closer inspection to be a row of beggars in conical hats with 
sheepskin rims and almost incredibly filthy rags. These greeted us 
not only with wailing invocations of Allah and cries of Padshah!t 
Zakat / (Alms, O King !) but with a fusillade of Chinese crackers which 


YARKAND, KHOTAN AND BEYOND 107 


very nearly caused a stampede of the entire cavalcade. A little 
further on we rounded a corner and came upon the real Sinkiang 
Army, cavalry and infantry, whose buglers set up a wild fanfare ; 
uniformed aides-de-camp and black-coated Chinese secretaries met us 
bowing with their masters’ red-paper visiting cards and next moment, 
dismounted, we found ourselves shaking the limp unaccustomed hands 
of the local hierarchy. These included the Magistrate of Yarkand, 
an alert and intelligent Cantonese ; the Commandant of the Garrison, 
an ancient Yunnanese General in a cream-coloured silk shirt, witha head, 
as D. puts it, positively waggley with age; a speechless Captain in a 
tightly-buttoned greatcoat, and one or two Assistant Magistrates in 
skull-caps and Chinese civil dress. 


(From a letter of D.’s dated 29th October, 1922.) 


This morning (Sunday) I went to the Mission Church and came 
back through the bazaars. Some of the types I saw were extra- 
ordinary—strange wild-looking men in square fur caps and ragged 
clothes, with Mongol faces and the eyes of people without minds! 
Shrivelled old men and women, mere heaps of rags, crawling about 
the streets. Fat Begs, picturesquely dressed in black tunics and 
trousers and long boots, with wonderful striped coats over all. Veiled 
visions with little fur-edged velvet caps, old Chinese men with brown 
walnut faces, and terrific Chinese babies like small lumps of dough. 
What it will be like on market day I can’t imagine, for I am told most 
extraordinary types come in from the deserts and marshes round 
Yarkand, 


Yarkand, 5th November, 1922. 


Yarkand is a much larger but less effectively-situated city than 
Kashgar. It is all on the flat, and there is no river across which, 
as at Kashgar, you can obtain a coup d geil of the town and its walls. 
All you can see from outside at any one point is a section of the mas- 
sive ramparts, in good repair round the New City but somewhat 
dilapidated round the adjacent old town; suburbs with long strag- 
gling bazaars further confuse the view. Once inside the walls, how- 
ever, you are struck by the size and spaciousness of the long roofed 
bazaars, far better-built than those of Kashgar, and by the quaint 
* pits’? and picturesque corners at every turn, of which glimpses 
are caught through every second doorway; courtyards of humble 
dwellings, inns, corners by ponds with tumbledown wooden houses 
and weeping willows drooping over them, eating-shops and groceries, 
smithies and old-clothes shops and carpenter’s shops, and everywhere 
masses of picturesquely-garbed people. The most remarkable sights 
in the streets are the beggars, positive miracles of grotesque ragged- 
ness and boniness. But Yarkand, though delightful at this season, 
must be hot and unhealthy from June to October; there are many 
flies and mosquitoes about still, and malaria (not a bad kind, however) 
is rife. The universal cretinism is distressing; every fourth person 
one meets has goitre. This is undoubtedly due to the bad water 
drunk by the people; although two large rivers come out of the 
mountains quite close to the city, the Yarkand and the Tiznaf, no 
attempt has ever been made to bring their waters regularly to the 


108 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


town by canals, and the water-supply of Yarkand consists solely of 
the scores of semi-stagnant ponds dotted all over the city. These 
are filled up but once a year when the Yarkand river is in flood and 
they can be replenished with the overflow from the irrigated fields 
outside the walls; they do not look as if they were ever cleaned out 
from century to century, though I suppose they must be occasionally. 

The countryside round Yarkand is delightful, though perfectly flat 
and not broken up by streams with high loess bluffs as in the Kashgar 
oasis. The farmsteads, mills, wayside shrines and village bazaars 
are built almost entirely of wood, but the houses and barns are not 
flimsy card-house affairs like their counterparts in the Kashmir Valley ; 
they are solid, comfortable-looking and satisfactory, like old English 
farmsteads. Everything is old, long-established, peaceful and pros- 
perous ; the well-timbered countryside with its broad fields, brimming 
canals and farms teeming with cattle, horses, sheep, goats, donkeys, 
poultry and rosy-cheeked children suggests a kind of Asiatic Holland. 

Yarkand is if possible even more “Central Asian’’ and remote 
than Kashgar, owing to its greater distance from the Russian frontier 
and therefore from Europe and “ civilization,’ and an even more 
astonishing diversity of races is represented in the streets, including 
the following: Andijanis (Mussulman Russian subjects from Fer- 
ghana); Badakhshis (from Afghan Badakhshan); Baltis (from the 
southern valleys of the Karakoram) ; Bokharans; Chinese; Chitralis ; 
Dulanis (aboriginals from the Yarkand River valley) ; Gilgitis (mostly 
freed slaves or their children) ; Kanjutis (men of Hunza and Nagar) ; 
Kashmiris ; Kirghiz; Ladakhis (from Little Tibet) ; Pathans, Afghan 
and British; Punjabi Hindus; Punjabi Mussulmans; Shighnis 
(from Roshan and Shighnan, Upper Oxus); Sindhis (moneylenders 
from Shikarpur) ; Tajiks (from the Chinese Pamirs) ; Tungans (Chinese 
Muhammadans from N. Sinkiang and Kansu); Turkis; Wakhis (from 
Wakhan and the valleys of the Hindu Kush). 

Of these the Turkis form the great bulk of the population; the 
Chinese are comparatively few, and are confined to the officials and 
their hangers-on, a few Tientsin merchants and some petty shop- 
keepers ; the Tungans are mostly traders; Kirghiz and Tajiks come 
in from the mountains and Dulanis from the down-river marshes. 
All these are Chinese nationals; the rest are ‘‘ travellers’? or ‘‘ men 
from over the mountains’’ (dawan-dshti) 1.e., foreigners, of whom 
the Andijani and Bokharan Russian subjects are represented vis-d@- 
vis the Chinese by their own headman or Agqsagal, while the Badakhshis, 
Baltis, Chitralis, Gilgitis, Kanjutis, Kashmiris, Ladakhis, Pathans, 
Punjabi Hindus and Muhammadans, and Sindhis look to the British 
Aqsaqal and his nazbs or assistants for each community. 


Posgam, 11th November, 1922. 


We have at last escaped from Yarkand and are bound for the ancient 
Kingdom of Khotan. Our caravan now consists of the tarantass 
and four Chinese carts drawn by two horses each (except on marches 
where the road is heavy with sand, when one or more extra horses 
are engaged for each cart at a shilling a day each). The hire fixed 
for each two-horse cart was 20 Kashgar taels or about £3 for the 
journey to Khotan. The tarantass with our own horses in it we 





IN THE SHRINE OF HAZRAT PIR, YARKAND; 


GATEWAY OF MOSQUE SCHOOL 


ay rust 
Bare ES Ante 
. ern yp 1 
(eee io 


re ts a ay Me 
E Bi wv 
ay | a ee 





YARKAND, KHOTAN AND BEYOND 109 


use in the same way as the Persian traveller uses his fastest mule ; 
on this animal, called the abdavi mule, he puts his bedding, his prayer- 
carpet, his samovar and cups, his water-jug, some food and his personal 
servant. This is a good plan, for it minimizes the discomfort of arriv- 
ing at a cheerless manzil (stage) long before one’s caravan. 

No less than four different farewell tea-drinkings at various points 
along the road leading out of Yarkand delayed our final departure 
till nearly midday. Two hours’ trot-and-canter through a perfectly 
flat country of wide fields, heavy timber, canals and prosperous- 
looking farms brought us to the house of a wealthy British subject 
of Chitral extraction who had a complicated dispute concerning rights 
of way and water with his next-door neighbour, a Kashmiri colonist. 
After toying for a while with various dishes and sipping tea, D. went 
in to see the ladies of the house and I sallied forth with the parties 
and went over the points in dispute with them on the spot. When 
I thought that the incessant cross-fire of argument and vociferation 
from both sides (so like the Indian and so unlike the easy-going Turki) 
had continued long enough I cut it short by firmly framing issues and 
referring them to a more or less unwilling committee of greybeards 
with strict injunctions to submit their decisions on my return from 
Keriya. No one will be more surprised than myself if well-thought- 
out replies on all issues are handed in to me by the arbitrators in 
due course; my hope merely is that the greybeards in question will 
succeed in bringing about a reconciliation between the parties and 
thus free themselves from the responsibility of deciding on my issues, 

A few miles further on we came to the Yarkand or (as it is called 
lower down) Tarim River, an interesting stream. Its upper reaches 
drain some of the most difficult country in the world, the untrodden 
solitudes of Oprang and the terrible Raskam gorges on the north side 
of the main Karakoram range; then for a thousand miles it forces 
its way through the dread Takla Makan Desert, only to lose itself 
at last in the lakes and marshes of Lop Nor, last remnant of what 
was once a great Central Asian Sea. In November the various channels 
can be forded easily on horseback; but the volume both of water and 
of traffic in summer is shown by the number of large, clumsy ferry- 
boats one sees pulled up on the beach on both sides of the two main 
channels, 

Posgam is a new district which has been carved out of the unwieldy 
Karghalik charge and placed under a Magistrate of the third class, 
A Yamen and fine new bazaars are being built of timber by the Chinese 
to the east of the village. This is only one of several new districts, 
the formation of which has been necessitated by the increase of popu- 
lation and the spread of cultivation during the last thirty years. 


Karghalik, 13th November, 1922. 


We had a remarkable experience yesterday when two squadrons 
of cavalry turned out in force to escort us into this town. One of 
them with its band and numerous banners marched in front of us, 
and the other with its band and even more banners brought up the 
rear. The bands both played at the same time, but their repertoire 
being limited they filled in the gaps by playing scales on their trumpets 
against one another. Just as the rear band was starting with its 


110 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


lowest note, like the dying moo of ten thousand stricken kine, the 
one in front would be finishing with its highest, which resembled a 
similar number of nails being drawn across a gigantic pane of glass. 
Each note went on for about two minutes, in an irregular diminuendo 
and crescendo as the various trumpeters lost their breaths and found 
them again. We have christened this performance ‘“‘ Ma noises’”’ 
after the gallant Commandant, Captain Ma, a son-in-law of the Titai. 

Apart from the dust they raise and the excruciating sounds they 
emit, the Karghalik Cavalry and their band are a pure joy. Yester- 
day as we rode past the guard of honour the beau sabreur in command 
gave us the “‘ officer’s salute’? with the utmost smartness. I was 
much impressed and rode past wreathed in smiles, my hat raised with 
due civilian humility. The effect, however, was somewhat spoilt 
when, the officer’s charger becoming restive, he whacked it soundly 
on the quarters with the flat of his sword several times before returning 
to the correct position! On another occasion, coming suddenly round 
a corner upon the cavalry, we caught the “ Ma noise”? merchant who 
led the band napping without his trumpet. Frantic shouting and 
hurrying to and fro, and all seemed lost, until the small street-boy 
who had been practising with the trumpet across the road dashed 
over and handed it to its rightful owner, who blew his first ear- 
splitting C just in time to make our horses shy as we passed. The 
situation was saved | 

The presence of so many mounted troops here must have some- 
thing to do with the fact that the grazing in the mountains above 
Karghalik is very good and it is a great horse-producing country, 
witness the thousands of ponies working on the Leh route which are 
owned by Karghalik carriers. The Amban here is a Manchu, the 
only Magistrate of that redoubtable race we have in Kashgaria ; 
one notices at once the difference in type, the upper part of his face 
being almost like a European’s, not flat like that of a Chinese. 


Karghalik, 15th November. 


The dinner with which we were entertained to-day at the Yamen 
was unique in that three Chinese ladies were present, including our 
Manchu host’s wife, next whom I sat just as if she had been a “‘ foreign 
devil”? like myself. It was most interesting. The ladies were shy 
at first, but when D. and our Chinese secretary had succeeded in 
putting them at their ease they thoroughly entered into the joke and 
the party went very well. There were also some children present, 
one of whom, a girl of ten, was as pretty as a picture, and knew it; 
sad to say,she was painted up to the eyes. An amusing interlude was 
when an old and battered tin of asparagus was produced and our 
host asked me to read him the instructions. He explained that it 
had been given him by a former English traveller who had dined with 
him, but he had not been able to have it for dinner as no one 
in his household could read the instructions. We are now wondering 
how long it will be before symptoms of botulism appear. 


Goma, 18th November. 


Owing to the extreme knottiness of the points raised by the Amban, 
I had to extend our stay at Karghalik from three days to six; this 


YARKAND, KHOTAN AND BEYOND 111 


necessitated a double march of 35 miles to Chulak Langar, mostly over 
desert. To make matters worse the Amban, whose private amiability 
was as excessive as his official stubbornness, insisted on our dining with 
him at 8.30 a.m. on the day of our departure, a most trying business. 
What with this and the various farewell tea-drinkings we did not 
finally escape from the Karghalik neighbourhood till past noon. D. 
rode with me for eighteen miles, and then we packed her with a mat- 
tress and plenty of bedding from our valises in the tarantass. Sunset, 
and with it an icy wind from the desert, found us still twelve miles 
from the lonely rest-house for which we were bound. This last lap 
was the heaviest going of all; the tired horses were unable to drag 
the tarantass at more than about three miles an hour, and time after 
time I had to help the two orderlies to push it out of a sand-dune, 
thankful for the exercise which kept me warm. We were both dead 
tired when at last, at 9 o’clock of a freezing starlit night, we pulled 
into the big stone sevai constructed in the sixties by that public- 
spirited tyrant, Yakub Beg “‘ Bedaulat.’’ Chulak Langar is situated 
at one of the coldest points on the whole Khotan road; standing on 
a slight rise facing the desert, its very name commemorates a tragedy 
of cold; chulak means “ lame,’ and refers to a poor man who stumbled 
into the sevai many years ago with his arms and legs frost-bitten and 
remained there a beggar until he died. To the south, the rolling gravel 
hills stretch away up to the blue snow-capped Kunlun; after heavy 
rain, and when the snows melt in the early summer, a trickle of water 
comes down a little valley and replenishes the big square reservoir 
from which the inn draws its water. In the valley are also a few 
poor little fields and some acres of grazing belonging to the innkeeper, 
To the north in the clear dawn the view is inexpressibly awe-inspiring 
and sinister ; the yellow dunes of the Takla Makan, like the giant waves 
of a petrified ocean, extend in countless myriads to a far horizon 
with here and there an extra large sand-hill, a king-dune as it were, 
towering above his fellows. They seem to clamour silently, those 
dunes, for travellers to engulf, for whole caravans to swallow up as 
they have swallowed up so many in the past. 


19th November. 


Goma is a thriving little town of wooden houses surrounded by 
orchards and groves of mulberry. A flourishing local industry is the 
making of coarse paper from pulped mulberry-bark—a link with the 
past indeed, for the process is much the same as that by which the 
Chinese made paper towards the beginning of the Christian era. 
Another link with the past, of a different kind, was a debtor I saw 
this morning in the Yamen wearing a “‘ cangue”’ (Turki shal) or heavy 
square yoke of wood padlocked round his neck, This ancient Chinese 
method of making debtors pay has long been officially abolished both 
in China Proper and in Sinkiang, but it evidently survives in out-of- 
the-way places; the cangues, I am told, vary in weight from 20 to 
60 lb. or more, and are left on the neck of the debtor until he pays 
up. He can move about as he likes inside the Yamen precincts, 
but has to be fed by his relations as he cannot reach his own mouth. 

Goma is on the very verge of the Takla Makan, of which we had 
such an impressive glimpse from Chulak Langar. It is a great place 


112 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


for the treasure-seekers, known as ‘‘ Taklamakanchis,’’ who are t) 
be found all along the fringe of the great desert ; ragged, ever-hopeful 
men of the tramp type who spend their lives ransacking the remains 
of ancient Buddhist tombs and temples far out among the sands of 
the Takla Makan. Occasionally these men find a few coins or seals 
or flakes of gold-leaf used in decoration; but I never heard of any 
one of them becoming rich in the process. From the archzological 
point of view, the activities of the ubiquitous Taklamakanchis cut 
both ways; Stein acknowledges many debts to them, including 
assistance, direct or indirect, in the discovery of his chief sites; but 
he had far oftener to deplore the damage done by them to tombs 
and temples, stupas and dwelling-houses. 


Zawa, 237d November, 1922. 


We are no longer in ‘‘ Kashgaria’”? now; we are in the ancient 
land of Khotan, the ‘“‘ Kingdom of Jade.” There is a distinct edge- 
of-the-desert feel about the countryside, fertile and closely-cultivated 
though it is. You notice it first when you come to Goma after the 
long desert stretch from Karghalik. You are getting further east ; 
the great Takla Makan on your left hand is nearly at its broadest ; 
the Kunlun on your right is an arid range. Now and again, quite 
unexpectedly, you come upon a belt of desert or a village islanded 
in sand; for here, as in Kansu far to the east, the inexorable ‘‘ Gobi ”’ 
—the word means merely “ desert ’’—is encroaching from the north- 
west, pushing the thin line of cultivation back against the fifteen-hundred 
mile-long wall of Tibet. One whole village we passed was in its death- 
throes ; a spear-head of dunes from the north had pinned it against 
the barren foothills, and all the houses had been abandoned except 
two or three to which the owners still clung pathetically though the 
sand was heaped right up to the roof. The loess soil in these parts, 
though apparently no less prolific when watered, is lighter both in 
weight and in colour than the yellow loess of Kashgar. The climate 
is evidently warmer, as one would expect, for the houses of the poor 
are all of wattles plastered with mud, unlike the solid mud-brick 
structures of the Kashgar oasis. The people too are more vivacious 
and excitable, as befits the south; one notices it at once in the small 
boys, whose enterprise and cheekiness in pursuit of a tamasha (e.g. 
‘a foreign traveller and his wife) has to be seen to be believed. The 
inhabitants of the southern oases are great pigeon-lovers. Outside 
every farm-house you will see tall poles with cross-poles at the top 
and rows of fat pigeons roosting on them at sunset. If you sprinkle 
grain on the sand at the Kaptar Mazar or Pigeon Shrine of Qum- 
rabat Padshahim (literally, My King’s Castle in the Sand) in the desert 
between Goma and Khotan, thousands of pigeons will stream out to 
meet you, a sort of Milky Way of pigeons, and the sound of their 
cooing and of their myriad wings is like the sea. 


Khotan, 24th November, 1922. 


This afternoon, eight miles from Khotan, we stopped at an ornate 
building opening off the bazaar of a small town. ‘The masons were 
still at work and a stone-carver was chiselling away at a lengthy 
inscription in Turki on the outer face of the gateway. The legend 


YARKAND, KHOTAND AND BEYOND 1138 


told us that Great Old Father Ch’en, who had been for six years 
Magistrate of Khotan, was responsible for the edifice—a kind of mauso- 
leum of his official ambitions. The inscription told of the mighty 
deeds of Ch’en, how he had built schools and temples and repaired 
roads, how he had girdled Khotan New City with walls and acted 
justly in the sight of men. Finally the names were given of those 
who had sent petitions to Urumchi praying for the retention at Khotan 
of the said Great Old Father. Within the building as we sat drinking 
ceremonial tea provided by our absent host in a room decorated with 
pleasing frescoes; Chu translated to us a Chinese poem which adorned 
one of the walls. It told how a certain Emperor of the T’ang Dynasty 
summoned his Prime Minister, one Hsii, and said to him, ‘‘ Hsi, thou 
art the most faithful and the most honoured of my counsellors, yet 
there are men who speak ill of thee, and complaints have reached 
mine ears. How is this?’’ Hsu prostrated himself and replied 
(but in far more flowery terms), ‘‘ Sire, the floods of spring are welcome 
to the farmers, but travellers speak many hard words of them; the 
moon of autumn is loved of lovers, but robbers like her not.’? The 
Emperor, understanding, bade his minister arise, and Hst basked 
once more in the full radiance of the Imperial countenance. 

I am told that Ch’en was a strong and severe Magistrate; he had 
a habit, among others, of hamstringing thieves which resulted, 
towards the end of his time, in the almost complete boycott of Khotan 
by the light-fingered fraternity. Officials of this type are unpopular 
the world over, not least among the very classes whose property they 
protect. Town walls, again, are not appreciated by the inhabitants 
of Sinkiang as they ought to be, owing to the fact that forced labour 
is used exclusively in their construction; they are in fact ‘ public 
works ’”’ in the fullest sense, in that the public has to work, and work 
hard, to make them. One can guess that complaints began to reach 
the ears of the Governor at Urumchi and eventually resulted in the 
replacement of Ch’en, who has doubtless ever since regarded himself 
as the victim of intrigue—hence the little story which adorns the 
walls of his drawing-room. 


Khotan, 25th November, 1922. 


Khotan is not a large town, but it is busy and prosperous and 
makes the most of itself to the traveller. You come first to the ‘‘ New ”’ 
or Chinese city, which is square and measures about half a mile each 
way with massive walls in good repair and bastions crowned with 
pagodas along them. Here are the Yamens of the officials, the 
barracks and magazine, the Taoist temple and several streets of shops. 
Then, passing under a gateway in the walls in the middle of the main 
bazaar, you find yourself in the Old City, which, unlike Kashgar and 
Yarkand, consists of one long, winding, up-and-down bazaar, well- 
roofed throughout, with an irregular fringe of town on either side all 
mixed up with private gardens, mosques, cornfields, open market- 
places and cemeteries. Old Badruddin’s house where we are staying 
is right in the middle of the most crowded part of the bazaar, and 
yet you can escape through the orchard into a lane among cornfields 
leading into the open country. I am ensconced in a grand room 
looking on to the garden, with numerous real glass windows and 
shutters to them, a fireplace and a Russian stove as well. D. chose 

8 


114 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


a cosier and more private apartment; she has but one lattice window, 
but that looks down on to the roof of a carpenter’s house, on which 
the women sit spinning and sewing in the sun all day long; cocks 
and hens peck about amid heaps of shavings, and children clad in long 
boots, greatcoat and nothing else peep over the edge into the street, 
tumble down the ladder into the shop and otherwise enjoy themselves 
without anyone minding. Children are cheap in this fat, easy-going land. 


Khotan, 27th November, 1922. 

We have just returned (8 p.m.) from an interesting but arctic dinner- 
party at the Yamen. Our hosts, the Amban and Commandant, had 
arranged a theatrical performance for the occasion, a great honour. 
D. and I were met within the Yamen by two parallel processions 
headed by our hosts and their wives respectively; I was led with 
much ceremony to one dinner-table and D. to another separated 
from the men by a low partition. The travelling company’s stage 
was set in the open courtyard opposite us. 

The prevailing note of the decorations was red; the walls of the 
Yamen building behind were covered with fine scarlet embroidery 
and scrolls of the same colour inscribed with Chinese characters in 
gold; under-foot were red Khotan carpets, while from the roof of 
the portico and the branches of the trees in the courtyard hung scores 
of red Chinese lanterns. Most of the latter were of paper, but several 
of them were of the beautiful and fantastic hexagonal pattern with 
panels of embroidered silk and long coloured tassels. Major Ma told 
me that most of the embroidery had been done by Turki women in 
Khotan, but he hastened to add that the Khotanis had learnt 
embroidery from the Chinese. 

The dinner lasted some four hours, and the theatrical performance 
went on all the time. After sunset the temperature sank to several 
degrees below freezing-point, and I nearly froze to death. The Chinese 
never mind how cold it is, for their winter clothes and boots, lined 
with fur throughout, are as admirably designed to withstand cold 
as their summer costume is to keep its wearers cool. D. says she was 
better off, thanks to large braziers which were kept under the table 
well stoked with wood-embers. She was charmed with the little Chinese 
ladies, who wore the regulation black satin tunic and trousers and their ~ 
hair scraped back and twisted into small buns lavishly decorated with 
ornaments of jade and precious stones. By far the loveliest of her 
hostesses, however, was a Turki girl from the Titai’s household at 
Kashgar, who was married to one of the military officers. She had, 
according to D.—I missed this vision—a perfect profile and small 
oval face, a complexion like a wild rose and large limpid dark eyes; 
her voice, like those of the beauties of Kashgar, had a kind of uneven 
tone with long, full, liquid notes. 

The ex-Amban’s mother, with whom D. exchanged calls yesterday, 
was not at the dinner. She, according to D., might have stepped 
straight out of a fairy-story. She looks about a hundred and fifty, 
wears a black silk handkerchief tied round her head like a pirate, and 
Owns an enormous woolly black cat which adores her and sits all the 
time licking her hands and face. 


‘ For a description of a Chinese theatrical performance, see pp. 245-7. 


YARKAND, KHOTAN AND BEYOND 115 


Khotan, 28th November. 


The name of Stein is well remembered in these parts among Turkis 
and British subjects alike, and all antiquities other than gold brought 
in by the ‘‘ Taklamanchis’’ or treasure-seekers of the Takla Makan 
are regarded as his property and to be kept for him. I heard many 
stories about the great explorer; how in the dreaded Qaranghu Tagh 
or ‘‘ Dark Mountains ”’ south of Khotan he bridged an abyss with wire 
and thus pulled himself and his party across ; how in the same moun- 
tains he was laid up with frost-bite and would have perished if help 
had not been obtained from the Leh road, and so on. One episode, 
probably trivial enough if it occurred, appears to have particularly 
impressed the Khotanis. It is related that a domed tomb was dis- 
covered by Stein completely buried in sand, only one small aperture 
giving access. This was too small for Stein himself to enter, so he 
called for volunteers, but none of his local men dared to goin. Finally 
the Indian surveyor, Ram Singh, stepped (literally) into the breach. 
He squeezed himself in, and when he came out again some time later 
he was blind ! 


Our journey from Khotan to Keriya and back was of the 
nature of a dash on business, and my letters contain little 
of interest to the general reader. The second time we visited 
this remote part of the world, in the spring of 1924, we were 
able to spare some time for seeing the country and studying 
its people ; on this occasion we travelled straight to Keriya 
(103 miles) in four marches, stayed there three days and 
returned to Khotan in another four days. We used pony 
transport for this trip, the desert road being too sandy for 
carts. We marched the first day 35 miles to a lonely desert 
inn called Beshtoghraq Langar, or ‘“‘ The Inn of the Five 
Desert Poplars,” passing, twenty miles from Khotan, through 
the headquarters of the flourishing new district of Lop. 

The Inn of the. Five Desert Poplars proved a grubby, deso- 
late little collection of mud hovels islanded in the sand-dunes 
of a belt of desert 25 miles wide; but our next halt, Chira, 
was a pleasant township positively buried in orchards. At 
this half-way house between Khotan and Keriya we were met 
by the British Aqsaqal of the latter district, a charming, 
courtly Afghan of great local prestige and considerable sub- 
stance called Ghulam Muhammad, who insisted on our staying 
in a comfortable house belonging to his Turki wife, a Chira 
lady. Next day, near Domoko, an amusing and instructive 
little incident occurred. We were hacking peacefully along 
with Murad Qari and a couple of orderlies, when we noticed a 
crowd of people in the fields a couple of hundred yards from 
the road, and thought we would go and see what was happening. 


116 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


When some of the crowd caught sight of our small party 
trotting quietly over the fields, to our surprise they turned 
and ran like rabbits; the alarm spread, and the next moment 
the whole crowd was scattering helter-skelter in all directions. 
Only a few fierce-looking dogs remained to receive us. Qari 
quickly realized what the matter was and informed us that we 
had broken up a dog-fighting meet. I sent Hafiz after the 
fugitives to tell them not to be frightened of us; gradually 
they trickled back and soon we were surrounded by a hundred 
or so sheepish-looking villagers, some of whom led heavily- 
built crop-eared dogs of the chow type. I thought at first 
that dog-fighting was forbidden, and that the sportsmen 
of Domoko had taken us for the arm of the law; but Qari 
assured me that this was not the case, and that the bolting 
of the crowd was due to nothing but pure funk. They saw 
five strangers riding towards them, and their instinct was to 
run. No wonder a handful of Chinese with a paper army keep 
perfect order throughout Kashgaria ! 

I was particularly anxious while at Keriya to obtain a 
view and if possible a telepanorama of the western end of 
the Altun Tagh or Mountains of Gold, a range belonging 
to the Kunlun system and extending from the south-east of 
Keriya 800 miles in a north-easterly direction. We were 
indeed vouchsafed a glimpse of the object of our desires, but a 
tantalizingly premature and inadequate one. In the late 
afternoon of the 30th November, on the road between Domoko 
and Qarakir Langar, we caught our breaths at the distant 
vision of two mighty peaks of the Mountains of Gold, both 
over 21,000 feet high, 65 miles away over the desert ; but the 
next morning the fatal dust-haze which is far worse here even 
than at Kashgar had blotted them out, and we did not see 
them again. | 

A peculiarity of the Keriya district outside the cultivated 
area is the coarse grass which covers the country for hundreds 
of square miles. As there is practically no rainfall at all in 
this part of the world, these savannahs must be due to com- 
paratively plentiful subsoil water percolating from the distant 
Kunlun. Chira and Gulakhma and other oases on the road 
to Keriya owe their existence to this water, which appears in 
frequent springs after an underground passage of forty or fifty 
miles beneath the belt of absolutely barren desert between the 
main road and the villages at the foot of the Kunlun. 

There is an end-of-the-world feeling about Keriya which 


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YARKAND, KHOTAN AND BEYOND 117 


is quite distinctive. Most of the other small towns in Kash- 
garia are on main routes, and witness a continual flow of 
through traffic; they have at least two roadside tea-drinking 
pavilions, one on each side of the town. Keriya on the other 
hand is almost, though not quite, a cul de sac ; it is the Ultima 
Thule of Kashgaria in this direction. With the exception of 
the insignificant desert settlements of Niya, Charchan and Char- 
khlig, there is nothing but desert for 860 miles between Keriya 
and Tunhwang (Shachow), the westernmost town of Kansu pro- 
vince. The journey to Tunhwang, or Dukhanas the Turkis call 
it, is only practicable in winter when water can be carried by 
camels in the form of ice across the terrible Lop desert, which 
occupies most of the 450 miles between Charkhliq and Tun- 
hwang and includes 150 miles of the salt-encrusted bed of the 
ancient Lop Sea. Occasionally, perhaps twice a year, a camel- 
caravan brings silks, tea and porcelain from China Proper to 
Khotan and Yarkand by this route, and returns with Khotan 
carpets, jade and Kashgar cotton cloth; individual traders 
pass to and fro between Keriya and Charchan, but on the 
whole it may be said that regular traffic stops at Keriya. A 
fine road leads into the town from the west, with an exception- 
ally good reception pavilion by its side; to the east, a mere 
country lane leads to the farms on the left bank of the Keriya 
River, and beyond them degenerates into a narrow track across 
the savannah. On this side there is no reception pavilion ; 
no official, foreign guest or other visitor worthy of a tea- 
drinking ever comes to Keriya from the east. 

While in Keriya we stayed at the Aqsaqal’s comfortable 
house in the middle of the town. My work with the Amban 
left little time for sight-seeing. Judging by the behaviour of 
the inhabitants, indeed, the chief sight to be seen.in Keriya 
while we were there was ourselves. One soon becomes ac- 
customed to gaping crowds of onlookers in the remoter parts of 
Central Asia; but the curiosity of the Kerialiks passed all 
bounds. The place appeared to kave knocked off work for 
the duration of our visit and to be engaged in nothing but 
looking at us; or rather I should say at D., for she drew ten 
times as good “ gates’”’ as I did. It must be remembered that 
with the notable exception of Mrs. Littledale in the nineties 
no European lady had ever been within a hundred miles of 
Keriya before. The inhabitants in crowds followed our every 
step, in the town and out of it ; so that we, who objected to 
being butchered to make a Keriya holiday, stayed at home. 


118 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


Ever hopeful, the populace took up positions on the surrounding 
roofs, waiting for us to show our noses outside. It is absurd 
to complain of the ‘‘ bad manners ”’ of the inhabitants, as some 
travellers do in similar circumstances ; their curiosity is per- 
fectly natural, and must be put up with. What Londoner 
would not stare, if he saw a Keriya Beg strolling down 
Piccadilly in full costume with an eagle on his wrist and the 
ladies of his harem following him at a respectful distance ? 

Winter was now upon us, and I was far behind my original 
tour-programme. Leaving Keriya on 5th December, we 
accomplished the return journey to Kashgar with almost 
undignified rapidity under the stimulus of icy winds from the 
desert. In spite of halts of two days at Khotan, three at 
Karghalik and four at Yarkand we were back in the Consulate 
by 27th December, in time to give belated Christmas parties 
and the official New Year dinner. Except for pilgrimages to 
two of Sir Aurel Stein’s sites, at Khadalik near Domoko and 
Yotkan, the ancient capital of the Kingdom of Khotan, we 
had little time for anything but travelling and official business. 
As on the outward journey, we slept each night either (at the 
larger centres) in private houses, or in the Chinese timber-and- 
mud-brick rest-houses reserved for officials. Whereas the 
native sevais are often very dirty, these langars are usually 
fairly clean, though bare and dusty, as they are seldom used. 
The buildings generally consist of a gateway of the Chinese 
type, with a wall built across the front to keep the devils out, 
and a courtyard on three sides of which are servants’ quarters, 
kitchen, store-rooms and stables, while on the fourth, opposite 
the gate, are the chambres de maitre. These are either three 
or five in number and open into one another, all except the 
middle one being provided with fire-places. Their windows 
are not glazed, but consist of light wooden lattice-work frames 
pasted over with white mulberry-bark paper. 

The day we double-marched from Karghalik to Yarkand 
was one of the most strenuous I have ever spent. D. started 
with the caravan at nine, in the tarantass, while I proceeded to 
the Yamen, intending to finish off my business with the Amban 
in two or three hours and catch D. up in time for lunch some- 
where about Posgam. Alas for my optimistic programme! 
I might have known my Manchu Amban. So many and knotty 
were the points he raised as a bonne bouche to our lively and 
prolonged discussions, andso loath was he (so he said) to part 
with me, that although I parried all his attempts to keep me 


YARKAND, KHOTAN AND BEYOND 119 


for dinner I did not finally escape from Karghalik till 3 p.m. 
I was then faced with a 41-mile ride to Yarkand, including 
all the ceremonies involved in arriving at and departing 
from the town of Posgam as well as an hour or two’s work 
with the Amban of that district. Attended only by Hafiz 
on his sturdy Kalmuck pony I called upon the black horse to 
rise to the occasion and galloped practically the whole way to 
Posgam (24 miles) in 24 hours. At the British Subjects’ 
tea-drinking, a mile short of Posgam, the poor old Aqsaqal and 
his friends had been waiting for me ever since noon, so I had 
to give them a good innings and hear all they had to say about 
their various lawsuits and other business. It was pitch-dark 
when I mounted again and trotted on into Posgam, and in 
view of this and of the gallop he had just done the black horse 
may perhaps be forgiven for coming down on a perfectly 
smooth bit of road and throwing me on my left shoulder rather 
heavily. The Amban, I was thankful to find, had abandoned 
the idea of a road-side reception hours before, and awaited me 
in his yamen; he was more considerate than my Manchu 
friend of Karghalik, and compliments, small talk, business and 
farewells were all successfully packed into an hour. 

By seven o’clock I was again on the road, riding my other 
horse which had been waiting for me all day at Posgam. I 
had hoped to be able to trot and canter all the way into Yark- 
and (17 miles), but my shoulder, which had been wrenched by 
my fall, was somewhat painful and would not stand jogging, 
so I had to proceed the whole way at a walk. A hospitable 
British subject called Haji Turab Shah was ready for me at 
his house, a mile out of Posgam, with a good square meal 
for which I was extremely thankful. Crossing the Yarkand 
River a mile beyond this was strange experience. I was 
surprised to find that there was considerably more water than 
when we had forded this river early in November, and 
that some of the ferry-boats which had then been laid by were 
now again in use. I was told that this was due to the fact 
that in November the water of the river can still be drawn off 
for irrigation, and is used for flooding the fields which have 
been sown for next spring’s crop; later, when the hard frost 
comes to the plains, the sluices of the canals become blocked with 
ice and it is no longer possible to draw off the waters of the 
river. I was escorted by the Aqsaqal of Posgam and two of 
his men, one of my own orderlies, and four of the Amban of 
Posgam’s runners, who dangled at the end of poles monstrous 


120 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


red paper lanterns inscribed with strange characters. With 
our five horses we occupied the whole of the big flat-bottomed 
ferry-boats, in which we were poled across the two main 
channels of the river by morose ferrymen in enormous sheep- 
skin hats. It was a wild dark night, no stars, no moon; by 
the light of a yellowish glow from behind heavy clouds in the 
western sky we could see, spinning past us in endless procession 
on the swift but shallow flood, floes and fragments of ice, 
which glanced harmlessly off our sides as the ferrymen kept 
the bows of the boat up-stream. The dim glow in the west, the 
fantastic lanterns, the strange-hatted ferrymen, the horses 
whinnying nervously in the bows and stern of the barge and 
the swift procession of the ice-floes on the dark waters, com- 
bined to produce an effect of unreality ; we seemed to be 
crossing some river of Hades in company with a boat-load of 
lost souls. 

The remaining 15 miles into Yarkand were very long. What 
with the darkness and my painful shoulder we could not 
hurry, and it was midnight before we at last turned wearily 
into the courtyard of the house at Yarkand in which D. had 
been anxiously awaiting me since sunset. 

Our Christmas lunch on the road between Yarkand and 
Kashgar was one of the chilliest meals I have ever eaten. 
Dismounting at a ruined farm-house we collected some frag- 
ments of green thorn-bush and tried with only partial success 
to make a fire behind a wall. When we came to “lay the 
table,’ we found that our drinking-water (not that we wanted 
to drink much) was frozen in the thermos, the hard-boiled eggs 
were also hard-frozen (D. thought the first one she broke was 
bad and threw it away), the cold chicken emitted a ringing 
sound when tapped and the juicy Kucha pears had to be 
thawed before we could get our teeth into them ! 


CHAP FERMIX 
DESERT, RIVER AND MOUNTAIN 


BOUT the tenth of February the grip of frost upon 
the land began to relax noticeably, the surface of 


the ice on the skating-ponds became day by day more 
slushy and the sun’s rays developed a hitting power which 
surprised us so early in the season. A fortnight later, amid 
general jubilation, the first muddy water appeared in the 
irrigation-channels, forerunner of the life-giving floods which 
in another two months would be sweeping down from the great 
ranges. Kashgar awoke and stretched itself after its winter 
sleep. Allat once, it seemed, the poplars and willows put out 
their buds, the soil became soft and moist and the garden 
resounded with the chatter of starlings, the twitter of martens, 
the cooing of ring-doves and the hoo-hoo-hoo of the courting 
hoopoe. Spring was upon us, and at the Consulate our fancy 
lightly turned to thoughts of the Road. We planned a most 
attractive ten weeks’ tour which would take us first to Merket, 
on the Yarkand River four marches to the east, thence down- 
river to Maralbashi and to fair Aqsu, 300 miles along the 
ancient Silk Road from Europe to Cathay, and back by Uch 
Turfan and the Mountains of Heaven. In the event, this 
programme had to be postponed to the autumn, except as 
regards Merket, but the spring tour that we did manage to 
carry out, though short, was interesting enough. 

Sending our baggage-ponies and all our retinue except the 
indispensable Hafiz and Sangi Khan ahead the day before, 
we left Kashgar on 21st March and reached Yupogha, 51 
miles east-south-east, the same evening. Our way at first led 
through a flat country of trees and reedy canals and old farms 
on the banks of quiet rivers; but the second day the culti- 
vation became gradually more sparse and the country drier 
as we approached the Takla Makan. That night we slept 
at a thriving little market-village called Tarim Bazar, where 

121 


122 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


there is the much-frequented shrine of one of Kashgar’s many 
lady-saints, Bu Mariam. It is a simple affair; a grove of 
ancient desert-poplars, two or three single-storied buildings 
on a little hill, a tall conical mound of faggots and sand sur- 
mounted by a bundle of long poles, and all round in serried 
ranks the tombs of the Faithful. Escaping with difficulty 
from the idly curious of Tarim Bazar we made tea for ourselves 
under a scented tamarisk-bush near the shrine. In a corner 
under the ancient poplars some families of pilgrims from 
Khotan were encamped with their ponies, donkeys and goats 
around them like a nomad tribe on the move; an incredibly 
old beggar in his elaborately-ragged, almost theatrical patch- 
work costume and medieval sheepskin-rimmed extinguisher 
hat doddered about among the graves; and all the while, 
incongruously, every tree and every bush was loud with the 
chorus of Spring. 

Next day we crossed the westernmost and narrowest section 
of the Takla Makan, 24 miles broad, to the tiny settlement of 
Langar among the first jungles of the Yarkand River. It 
was not a pleasant march. Though there were no high 
dunes to cross, the going was heavy throughout, the sun’s 
heat trying and the endless vistas of tamarisk-cones inex- 
pressibly monotonous. Thetarantass had as usual been sent 
back after our first double march, and we both rode. But 
the worst was now over. Next morning an exhilarating two- 
mile canter brought us to the river, across the placid waters 
of which roomy flat-bottomed ferry-boats were plying to 
and fro with cargoes of fur-hatted carters, blue-hooded Chinese 
carts, gaily-decked horses tinkling with bells and villagers in 
costumes of many colours. Across the river, in a grove of 
trees from which last year’s leaves had not yet fallen (so calm 
and windless is the winter here), we were met by an unex- 
pectedly imposing cortége. Twenty horsemen escorted a 
landau drawn by three fine bays, harnessed troika-fashion and 
skilfully handled by an obviously Russian-trained Turki 
coachman. In the carriage sat a good-looking, clean-shaven 
young Chinese gentleman dressed in the regulation black silk 
coat and white skirt, and wearing the neat black cap of his 
country instead of the ridiculous bowler favoured by most of 
his colleagues. It was the Amban of Maralbashi, of which 
district Merket is a subdivision, and he was actually on tour— 
the first and last occasion during the whole of our time in 
Kashgaria on which we met a District Magistrate away from 


DESERT, RIVER AND MOUNTAIN 123 


his headquarters. Still more surprising, he greeted us in 
halting but recognizable English, a language which he told us 
he had learnt as a student at Peking but had since had little 
opportunity to practise. His Russian, we understood, was 
much more fluent, as he had been attached for a year to the 
Chinese Consulate at Irkutsk before the Revolution. Mr. Chiu 
was one of the few specimens I came across of official Young 
China in the exile of the Far West ; others included Mr. M. Y.Tao, 
Foreign Affairs Secretary to the Tao Tai, and three different 
Postmasters of Kashgar. I had had no previous experience of 
the ex-student class, and I must say I was most favourably 
impressed with their manners, intelligence and capacity. 
Merket, though the centre of a large and growing oasis, 
is merely a big market-village nestling under the lee of a 
low range of sand-hills crowned with mud-built shrines and 
tombs. The people belong to a race of unknown origin called 
the Dulanis, who interested me very much. Sir P. Sykes 
says they are akin to the Kirghiz of the mountains!; but in 
my humble opinion they have no connexion with that race, 
and are probably indigenous to the marshes and jungles of 
the Yarkand (Tarim) River between Yarkand and Aksu. 
They differ from the Kirghiz in facial appearance, physique, 
mentality and habits even more widely than from their neigh- 
bours the Turkis, with whom at any rate they have inter- 
married to a certain extent. The only common characteristic 
I noticed in the Kirghiz and the Dulanis was the freedom ac- 
corded by both to their women, who not only mix freely 
unveiled with the men but do most of the hard work for them; 
and this is probably only a superficial resemblance, for the 
status of women among the Kirghiz is directly connected 
with their nomadic life. The Dulani women are remarkably 
good-looking and vivacious in the Southern European style and, 
as Miss Sykes noticed, eat, dance and sing with the men at 
entertainments which often last the whole night long— 
gaieties quite foreign to the quiet, Northern, rather staid 
Kirghiz. A vivid impression was made on us both by a hand- 
some young village woman we talked to one afternoon, who 
might have been own sister to the subject of one of Miss Sykes’ 
most charming photographic studies. As we sat on a bank 
near the western edge of the oasis looking out towards the 
golden dunes of the Takla Makan, she passed us carrying 
a sick lamb in her arms to the little farm buried in trees that 


1“ Through Deserts and Oases of Central Asia,” p. 241. 


124 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


was her home. She made such a pretty picture as she smiled 
to us in greeting that I took out my camera and snapped her, 
saying as I did so “ Qurgmaselar.” (“ Don’t be afraid’), for 
I was accustomed to the shyness of the women of the plains 
which renders a natural (i.e. unposed) photograph of them 
so difficult to obtain. To our surprise she tossed her head and 
said ‘‘ I’m not afraid of men!’ and then and there she chatted 
pleasantly to us for a few minutes, holding the lamb in her arms 
all the while, asking us all about ourselves and gossiping about 
Merket and the Amban’s visit. On another occasion we 
noticed a Dulani woman digging in a field of heavy clay with 
great energy, while her husband strolled along behind the 
plough-bullocks close by. As for the town, the men there 
seem to leave everything to the fair sex, and a picture comes 
tomy mind of a blacksmith’s forge with a woman toiling away 
at the bellows with one hand and holding a horse-shoe in the 
fire with the other, while her husband and two other loafers 
sat by looking on. It was an astonishing sight, every time 
we issued from our Chinese rest-house just outside the bazaar, 
to see rows and rows, not of women and children as at Keriya 
but of full-grown men lining the railings waiting for us to come 
out ; I counted seventy-two of them on one occasion, and 
hardly a single woman. 

The standard of living as well as of morals among the Dulanis 
is noticeably lower than among the Turkis; thieving is rife, 
witness the watch-dogs which seem to average about three 
per house. They are also an exceedingly quarrelsome and 
vindictive race, in contrast to the easy-going, good-natured 
Turki. A Dulani will do anything to hurt an enemy. It is 
a regular thing for one who has a quarrel with another to 
threaten to kill his child or himself “‘ at ’’ his enemy, i.e. in 
order to bring bad luck on him, and sometimes he does it, too. 
The extraordinary thing is that the Chinese recognize the 
custom, and usually give judgment against the party “at” 
whom the child-murder or suicide was committed! They 
argue that the person who committed suicide or killed his child 
must have been seriously wronged, otherwise he would not have 
taken so dreadful a step. Inacase I heard with the Amban of 
Maralbashi one of the main issues, argued at great length, was 
whether the plaintiff, who had attempted to kill himself by 
swallowing an over-dose of opium, had done so “at” the 
defendant, or, as the latter maintained, “‘ at’ a third party. 

During our stay at Merket an important “ international ”’ 


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DESERT, RIVER AND MOUNTAIN = 125 


case arose in connexion with the murder of a British subject 
by his son at a village in the Yarkand district, and it became 
necessary for me to confer with the Amban of Yarkand at 
his headquarters. The march of 45 miles to Yarkand occupied 
a day and a half and led us through country which alternated 
between desert-poplar forest, marshes and cultivation. The 
display of bird life among the marshes along the right 
bank of the Yarkand River was astonishing. We saw none 
of the rainbow-plumaged “‘ Shaw’s pheasant’’ supposed to 
haunt these jungles, but among the reedy lakes and water- 
channels all along the road there was every now and again a 
mighty cackling and splashing of duck, geese, teal, cormorants, 
cranes, terns, plovers, coots, water-hens and many kinds of 
lesser fowl. A Paradise indeed for the naturalist and even for 
our ignorant selves, could we but have spared a few days to 
explore these little-known wilds with gun and camera. The 
Yarkand oasis was entered at Abad, a village of several 
hundred families living on land brought into cultivation 
twenty years before by an Amban called Liu, who used prison 
labour to dig a canal from the Yarkand River. This was one 
of several instances I came across in the Yarkand neighbour- 
hood of cultivation being extended by enterprising and 
ambitious Magistrates. The area of this great oasis must 
be now at least twice what it was fifty years ago under the 
indigenous rule of Yakub Beg. 

The five days my work occupied at Yarkand passed pleas- 
antly enough at the garden of the Bar Gah, now a mass of 
snowy blossom, and while I sat in conclave with Amban or 
Aqsaqal, D. amused herself with shopping in the kaleidoscopic 
bazaars and exchanging visits with Swedish, Chinese, Indian 
and Turki friends. Once she was entertained at tea in the 
grand manner by the entire community of Hindu traders at 
their big caravanserai in the middle of the Old City, during 
the course of which a bowing young bunnia informed her 
that he knew the Generail-Consul-Sahib (i.e. me) quite 
well, as he had been a waiter at the United Services Club at 
Simla in 1920 when I had quarters there! Since then he had 
given up the job in order to join his brother who represented 
an Amritsar firm at Yarkand. Her visit to the Yamen to 
see the wife of the Amban was a somewhat difficult one. She 
found a child of eighteen, a forlorn, rather pathetic little 
figure dressed up like a doll, who almost died of nervousness 
and said through her Turki maid, “‘ Please forgive me, I don’t 


126 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


know what to do or say!’”’ On Easter Sunday she attended 
the children’s service at the Mission Orphanage three miles out 
along the Kashgar road. I rode out to fetch her in the after- 
noon and we were both shown over the establishment. We 
were immensely struck by the Orphanage, the acquaintance of 
whose small inmates we had already made at the Bar Gah the 
previous November. The children numbered thirty-five and 
ranged in age from ten months to fourteen or fifteen years, and 
all were happy as sand-boys, apple-cheeked little people, 
many of them, who might have been, so far as appearances 
were concerned, English or Scottish children of the same class. 
The institution, which is situated on an estate appropriately 
named “ Bihisht Bagh’’ or “‘ Garden of Paradise,’ included 
in addition to the usual playgrounds a fair-sized plot of land 
which the orphans helped to cultivate. Less than half the 
children were orphans in the ordinary sense, without either 
father or mother living; the rest were victims of the un- 
fortunate temporary marriage system prevalent throughout 
Kashgaria—honorary orphans, as it were. Trouble was 
occasionally experienced from relations who, having kept in 
the background in the earlier stages, claimed children when 
the Orphanage had turned them into well-fed, well-behaved 
potential wage-earners. On the whole, however, the Orphan- 
age was the most respected of all the works of the Swedish 
Mission, both among the Chinese and among the Turkis, whose 
religion taught them to regard kindness to an orphan as a 
sawab or merit-acquiring action of the highest order. 

While at Yarkand I seized the opportunity of having my 
teeth seen to by Dr. Nystrém of the Mission, who is an ex- 
perienced dentist. His services are very much in request 
throughout Kashgaria, for he has an absolute monopoly of 
Western dental skill. High Chinese officials at Kashgar were 
always asking me when he would next come to the capital. 
He did visit Kashgar in January 1923 on Mission duty, when 
in response to the universal request he took his dental chair 
and appliances with him and spent a busy fortnight fitting 
toothless mandarins with dentures. From what Dr. Nystrém 
told me and I heard from other sources I can confidently assert 
that any enterprising dentist who found his way to Sinkiang 
with a few instruments and a couple of camel-loads of false 
teeth would make a small fortune ; moreover, he would have 
experiences with his clients seldom vouchsafed to practitioners 
in more sophisticated lands. Dr. Nystrém once told me of a 


DESERT, RIVER AND MOUNTAIN = 127 


wealthy old landowner of Yangi Hissar district who wrote to 
him asking for a set of teeth, to be sent by post. The exact 
wording of the following extracts from correspondence is not 
vouched for, but the facts are as related to me. 


Letter from Ibrahim Beg Haji of Yangi Hissar to Dr. Nysivom, 
Yarkand. 


(After usual compliments). ... May it be known to Your Excel- 
lency that from many years of chewing the stale bread of adversity 
and gnawing the hard bone of poverty the teeth which Allah bestowed 
on this slave have been worn away, until but one remains. Being 
well aware of Your Excellency’s Galen-surpassing erudition and 
surgical skill, I pray you to send me by the hand of my messenger 
a set of teeth such as the Franks use, only they must be teeth that 
have come from no infidel jaw nor bitten the flesh of any unclean 
animal. ... 


Dy. N. to Ibvahim Beg Haji. 


I have received your letter. Be it known to you that it is not 
possible for me to fit you with a set of artificial teeth without first 
seeing and measuring your mouth. Please therefore come to Yarkand 
and I will be at your service. 


Ibvahim Beg Haji to Dr. N. 


(After compliments and thanks). ... I bitterly regret that the 
multifarious duties and family ties of this slave render a visit to Yarkand 
impossible. However, I know well that it is only the friendship with 
which you deign to favour me and the desire you feel for my unworthy 
company that impel you to invite me to Yarkand in person. I there- 
fore send this by the hand of an aged retainer, Ishak Bai. My mouth 
resembles his, except that he has no teeth at all whereas my upper 
dog-tooth on the left side remains. Please make the teeth to fit his 
mouth, but leaving space for the above-mentioned dog-tooth, and 
send them to me without delay so that I may once more eat the flesh 
of sheep and goats to the glory of Allah and in thankfulness for your 
more-than-Hippocratic learning. 


Dy. N. to Ibrahim Beg Haji. 


... I regret that I cannot comply with your wishes. It would 
be useless to make the teeth fit Ishak Bai and not you.... 


The correspondence ceased, but when shortly afterwards 
Dr. N. went to Kashgar, with his dental chair and instruments, 
he arranged to stay for a few days at Yangi Hissar on the way, 
chiefly for the benefit of old Ibrahim Beg Haji. When the 
Haji appeared and was duly seated on the torture-chair, the 
following dialogue (or something like it) took place :— 


Dr. N. (finding a single very decayed and loose tooth remaining in 
his client’s mouth): This tooth must come out. 


128 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


I. B. H.: Impossible. My last tooth! I cannot part with it. 

Dr. N.: But you must. I cannot fit the set with one of your own 
teeth, and that a loose and decayed one, still in position. 

I. B. H.: Surely you can make them with a gap into which my 
one can fit ? 

Dr. N.: I fear I cannot. You must let me take it out. 

I. B. H.: It is the will of Allah. Allow me to take my leave. 
Farewell. 


And that was the last that the Doctor saw of Ibrahim Beg 
Haji! 

My work at Yarkand done, it was too late to turn our 
steps northwards again and continue the tour we had orig- 
inally planned. April proved a much hotter month than we 
had expected, and we feared the notorious gadflies and mos- 
quitoes of the Maralbashi jungles, which before the end of the 
month would be ravening for our blood and that of our animals. 
Moreover, about this time it became known to me that I would 
have further opportunities for the Aqsu tour, the Government 
of India having decided, for reasons into which it is unnecessary 
to enter, to keep me two years at Kashgar instead of the one 
for which I had originally been appointed. 

It seemed a pity, however, to return to headquarters so 
soon by the comparatively dull main road which we had 
traversed only three months before, and in view of the heat 
I decided to make the experiment of a fortnight’s détour 
among the high mountains. The opportunity appeared a 
favourable one for attempting the passage of the Qaratash 
Gorges which had baffled us the previous October; the 
summer floods were not to be expected until about the twen- 
tieth of April, while there was a reasonable prospect of the 
snow on the high passes which give access to the upper Qara- 
tash having melted sufficiently to allow us to cross. Once in 
the upper Qaratash I hoped to find the weather clear enough 
and the water sufficiently low to permit a reconnaissance of 
the Chimghan Jilgha, which joins the main valley from the 
west just above the great gorges. This route would also 
take us across a region known as the Qizil Tagh (Red 
Mountains) to the west of the Yarkand oasis, which I 
was anxious to explore. Though the Red Mountains con- 
tain alpine pastures and some small patches of fir-forest, 
and are easily accessible both from Yarkand and from Yangi 
Hissar, they have only, so far as I know, been visited by 
Sir Aurel Stein, Col. Shuttleworth and some missionaries 
from Yarkand who established a summer camp among 


DESERT, RIVER AND MOUNTAIN 129 


them a few years ago. It was a pity that bad visibility and 
shortage of time prevented plane-tabling in this region, so 
that I was unable to supplement Sir Aurel Stein’s map by 
fitting into it a traverse of our route, which except for 14 miles 
in the Chighmen and Suget Jilghas was one which had not 
previously been followed by Sir Aurel or any other explorer. 

Leaving Yarkand on 2nd April we spent the night at Qaraul 
Jash, 15 miles to the south-west of the city, as the guests of 
the British Aqsaqal, who had estates in that neighbourhood. 
Next day we plunged into the barren foothills of the Qizil 
Tagh. A long and hot march brought us to the only water 
in the region, brackish but just drinkable, a spring called 
Achigq Yusuf Qadir Khan. Here we camped thirstily, leaving 
at an early hour next morning in order to reach sweet water 
as soon as possible. It was not till three in the afternoon, 
however, that we crossed the last range of hills and found 
ourselves quite suddenly in the Chighmen Jilgha, a long valley 
which comes down from the inmost fastnesses of the Red 
Mountains and eventually debouches near Qizil Bazar on the 
Yarkand-Kashgar road. Whata treat it was to come suddenly 
on a crystal, ice-cold stream and a little mill among willows 
just showing their spring green! It was too early to halt and 
we filed up the valley, passing croft after croft of the Kirghiz’ 
rough stone-built huts with steeply-terraced cornfields now 
just beginning to be ploughed with the help of water carried 
along the hill-sidein narrow channels. For these were “ farmer 
Kirghiz ”’ as we called them, not the pastoral, aq-o1-inhabiting 
Kirghiz of the higher mountains. Here are no great flocks 
and herds as on the high pastures of the Pamirs or the Tien 
Shan; only a few sheep and goats nibbling the scanty weeds 
along the rocky banks of the stream, guarded by tawny, 
thick-furred dogs. We stopped at a croft slightly larger than 
the rest to talk to the local Qazi, a typical thin-bearded, high- 
cheek-boned old Kirghiz, who earnestly begged us to pitch 
our tents on one or other of his pocket-handkerchief fields and 
be his guests. We spared the old man and pushed on another 
mile and a half, camping on a sheltered patch of grass in a 
bend of the stream-bed, 7,000 feet up. 

Next day we contented ourselves with a half-march of nine 
miles only and camped at the tiny Kirghiz settlement of 
Suget Ayaghi, near the outlet of the Suget Valley, an upper 
branch of the Chighmen. The first inhabitants we saw in 


this valley were four tiny tots of children whom we surprised 
9 


130 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


toddling down to the ice-covered stream with blackened 
copper water-jugs to fill, a pretty sight. Later, when our 
camp was pitched, came three cheerful vast-turbaned, apple- 
cheeked ladies, with their sewing and their babies,and made 
themselves comfortable on the grass in front of D.’s tent, 
chatting with us and among themselves until D. should be 
ready to receive them inside. Then they crowded into her 
tent and hung excitedly over her unpacking. Though accus- 
tomed to friendliness and naturalness on the part of the Kirghiz, 
D. was at first a little puzzled at the remarkable lack of shyness 
of these women, on our very first appearance among them ; 
but the mystery was soon solved. As she was setting out her 
toilet-table one of them suddenly pounced on a box of tréfle 
incarnat with cries of “‘Ufpah! Ufpah!’’ which means 
“‘ powder-puff.”’ D. was astonished, until they explained. 
One of them, it appeared, was the daughter of old Ibrahim Beg 
of Yambulak, and had recently been on a visit to her parents, 
who had told her all about our stay in their valley last July on 
our way to Kashgar. Consequently, the Suget ladies knew all 
that D. had then said and done, how she had given those of 
Yambulak cold cream for their hands and had initiated them 
in the mysteries of powder and puff, how she had promised 
them gloves and had painted a picture of the Beg’s pretty 
daughter-in-law, and many other items of breathless interest. 
So D. knew what was expected of her, and ere long the camp 
resounded with their delighted gigglings as they powdered 
their noses and preened themselves in front of D.’s camp 
mirror. 

Soon after leaving Suget Ayaghi we passed through a remark- 
able cleft in the high rocky wall and found ourselves in a 
wide sunny valley with snow-clad peaks at its head. Here, 
at a height of about 9,000 feet, were the summer pastures of 
the Suget Kirghiz and two of their cottages. There were no 
trees, but high up on the flanks of the central peaks we could 
see patches of fir-forest. This, we were told, was the valley 
to which the missionaries from Yarkand had come more than 
once for their summer camp. Leaving the Suget Jilgha by a 
pass just over 10,000 feet high we descended into a pleasant 
little valley called the Tam Jilgha, so called from the number 
of stone houses (tam) it contained. Poplars grew in it, re- 
markable at a height of over 9,000 feet, and there was quite a 
respectable area of cultivation, chiefly barley. Here we saw 
three different kinds of animal being used in the plough 


DESERT, RIVER AND MOUNTAIN © 131 


within a few hundred yards ; in one field a pair of horses and 
another of bullocks, on another plot a fine pair of yaks was 
harnessed to the plough. Crossing another quite easy pass we 
dropped down into the Sarai Jilgha, a much less fertile valley, 
with only two very poor families of Kirghiz in it. 

On 8th April we crossed our third and highest pass in the 
Oizil Tagh, the Sarai Davan, 11,500 feet. It was steep and 
had a regular knife-edge top, but was not difficult and our 
carrier's ponies which were accustomed to the Karakoram 
road made light of it. Descending from the pass by a steep 
and narrow nullah we debouched on the Kinkol Valley at 
Kichik Qaraul, where we were on the Tashqurghan-Kashgar 
road up which we had come the previous July. We had thus 
left the “‘ Red Mountains ”’ behind us. 

An attractive feature of the Qizil Tagh is the partridge 
shooting. We were there at the wrong time of year for it, but 
we shot a few birds for the pot now and then, and from the 
number of coveys we saw it was evident that in autumn a party 
of two or three guns would get a very good bag indeed in 
any one of the three valleys we visited. The only country in 
which I have seen as many red-legged partridge (chikor) as in 
the Qizil Tagh is the valleys of the Sulaiman Mountains 
in the north of British Baluchistan. The pursuit of the chikor 
or keklik (so called in Turki from the noise they make, kik- 
alik-alik-alik) is one of the most strenuous forms of sport I 
know. The birds are usually found neara steep, often precip- 
itous, hillside; at the slightest alarm they run for it and 
climb, and you have to pound up after them. as hard as you can. 
Without beaters, the difficulty usually is to put them up. 
Shooting for the pot, as I always did on these tours, I usually 
took a long shot at a runner, in which case the covey would 
often get up and in their agitation break back over my head, in 
which case I got a shot with my left barrel. This performance 
I could hardly describe as a “ right and left,’’ so I called it a 
“ ground and air.” 

Marching up the Kinkol valley we struck westwards up 
the Chumbuz Jilgha,a promising glen, of which I had made a 
note for future exploration the previous July. It led up into 
another small blank patch in Sir. A. Stein’s map, and my 
object was to survey it roughly and cross by a pass called the 
Kizmak which I knew led over from its head into the upper 
Qaratash Valley. Lest the Kizmak should prove really bad— 
it had never been crossed by European—I decided to send most 


132 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


of the servants and baggage round by the Ghijak Pass to 
the north, while D. and I with two orderlies, a couple of 
Kirghiz guides and little else but our toothbrushes, crossed 
the Kizmak. Each party spending a night on the way, we 
were to meet the baggage at Chat in the Qaratash Valley, 
six miles above the great gorges down which we hoped to 
ass. 
2 Before carrying out this plan we halted a day at a croft 
called Chong Terek or the Big Poplar, a couple of miles up 
the Chumbuz Jilgha. The day was spent by me in surveying 
the lower part of the Chumbuz valley and by D. in doctoring 
the Kirghiz, baking scones and hunting chikor and pigeons. 
We were still, at 8,000 feet, among agricultural Kirghiz, and 
we did not like them nearly as much as the pastoral inhabitants 
of the higher levels. The people of the lower Chumbuz Jilgha 
seemed to us a mongrel mixture of Turki and Kirghiz, com- 
bining the laziness of the former with the untruthfulness of the 
latter and lacking the good qualities of either. The women, 
too, D. said, were more like the sophisticated product of the 
plains than the handsome, fearless, busy ladies of the lofty 
grazing-grounds. We found ourselves among the latter kind 
once more at the Kizmak pastures near the head of the Chum- 
buz Jilgha, which we ascended on gth April while our caravan 
went round by the Ghijaq Pass. The tents of the Kizmak 
Kirghiz were pitched at an elevation of 11,100 feet, on a steeply- 
sloping strip of land under high red sandstone cliffs beside 
the partially-frozen stream, and the place swarmed with a 
picturesque medley of men in huge fur-rimmed caps, women in 
their quaint turbans, children, yaks, ponies, sheep, goats, 
dogs and cats. A large ag-oi full of warm-tinted rugs and 
other Kirghiz “ furniture”? was hastily vacated for us, the 
tiny bath-tent we always carried on these occasions was put up 
outside, and we were soon comfortably settled. It was still 
early in the afternoon, and the ladies soon had D. out ; armed 
with her medicine-bottles she visited each of the other tents 
in turn, bathing sore eyes, anointing neglected cuts and 
badly chapped hands and prescribing for the universal indiges- 
tion caused by the rock-like bread and masses of sour cream 
the Kirghiz indulge in. Her description in a letter of the 
scene in the last aq-o7 she visited is delightful. ‘I sat on the 
floor,’’ she says, ‘‘ tying up a woman’s badly-cut knee, while 
three others stood round holding out their dresses as a screen 
from the male inmates of the tent; in the middle, over the 





KIRGHIZ CALLERS, QIZIL TAGH REGION 





A KIRGHIZ WEDDING BREAKFAST, UPPER QARATASH VALLEY 


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DESERT, RIVER AND MOUNTAIN © 133 


fire, a man was cooking an entire sheep; in another direction 
five men were saying their evening prayers; twelve young 
lambs were tied up in a row in another part of the aq-os 
and all the rest of the room was taken up by the fat Beg 
who sat warming his feet at the fire and sipping a bowl of 
tea |” 

The Kizmak Pass next day proved terribly steep and some 
14,000 feet high, but the magnificent yaks provided by the 
Kirghiz carried our loads up it (though with many halts and 
tremendous puffings and gruntings). They then tobogganed 
neatly down the still steeper descent on the west side, which 
contained snow and showed signs of recent avalanches. The 
glorious view from the top, including the whole mountain- 
system of the upper and middle Qaratash, kept us there nearly 
two hours ; though unfortunately it was too late in the day for 
either Oungur or Muz Tagh Ata to be free from clouds, and my 
telephotographs were not successful. A long day ended with 
a six-mile canter against a howling north wind down the 
broad flat bottom of the Qaratash Valley to Chat, where we 
were relieved to find our caravan waiting for us and our 
tents pitched. Six inches of snow fell that night, but next 
morning it cleared up and I decided to halt a day, which I 
spent in plane-tabling and telephotographing the magnificent 
snows of Qungur and the Shiwakte from the heights above 
Chat. 

Next day (12th April) we started the march down the 
Qaratash Gorges, to which I had been looking forward with 
some apprehension. The worst part does not begin till below 
the junction of the Qaratash and Chimghan valleys, six miles 
below Chat, but even in this six miles the valley narrows 
considerably and the river has to be forded seven times. Four 
miles below Chat, at a place called Bek Targhak, we had the 
unexpected pleasure of assisting at a Kirghiz wedding feast. 
Forty or fifty Kirghiz, including several women, were gathered 
at a mud-walled enclosure in which four ag-ois were pitched ; 
they invited us through the Beg to come in, and next moment 
we found ourselves sitting in a crowded aq-o1 chewing portions 
of a sheep which was being stewed at the fire in the middle. 
Asking which were the happy pair, we were informed that 
neither of them was present, it being the custom throughout the 
ntkah or wedding feast for the bride and bridegroom to stay in 
their respective tents in the background. D. was taken in 
to see the lady and reported afterwards that she was a woman 


134 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


of about twenty-five who was marrying for the second time ; 
her late husband had been the first cousin of the present 
bridegroom, who was marrying her as next-of-kin according 
to a common practice among the Kirghiz. 

We had no little difficulty in tearing ourselves away from the 
hospitable Kirghiz, who evidently considered we had brought 
luck to the happy pair. The revelry was still in its early 
stages, and every moment more and more guests arrived, 
some riding two on a pony or camel, others striding through 
the sleet on foot. We did our best in the way of wedding 
presents, but all the coloured scarves, woollen gloves, bead 
necklaces, hunting-knives and other treasures we had brought 
had already been distributed among the Kirghiz of the Qizil 
Tagh and other places along the road. However, we left the 
bridegroom very happy with a small cash present and the 
bride radiant with a magnificent pair of diamond and pink 
pearl ear-rings which D. had bought for the equivalent of 
about a shilling at a Hindu shop in Yarkand. 

Eventually, after I had photographed the family party 
in the aq-oi, as well as the entire assembly outside, we escaped 
and made our way after the caravan as fast as the rough track 
would let us. Two miles lower down we came to the junction 
of the Chimghan and Qaratash rivers and looked longingly up 
the fine wide valley of the former stream. Its flat bottom 
was fully a mile broad with meadows, cultivation and willow 
woods; as the sky cleared and the mists rose we caught 
glimpses of magnificent snowy ranges rising ten thousand feet 
above it on either side. No European but our one predecessor, 
Stein, had so much as looked up it, and even he had not 
explored it. J would have given much to spend two or three 
days camping up the Chimghan Jilgha, which I knew would 
lead me into the inmost fastnesses of Qungur and the mysterious 
Shiwakte; but I dared not. In mid-April the summer 
floods might come down any day, and it was inadvisable to 
run the risk of being trapped by them in the middle of the 
dreaded Qaratash gorges. As it was, the combined waters 
of the Chimghan and Qaratash streams, which we had to cross 
thirty-one times before we at last emerged upon the plains 
at Altunluk, were only just fordable by our baggage-ponies ; 
our bedding and boxes of clothes we loaded on two or three 
camels which the Kirghiz produced, steady sure-footed 


1 For an account of the marriage customs of the Kirghiz in the Alps 
of Qungur, see Chapter XI. 


DESERT, RIVER AND MOUNTAIN — 185 


animals, which scarcely allowed their loads to be so much as 
splashed. 

It was half-past twelve when we crossed the last of the four 
channels of the Chimghan stream at its junction with the 
Oaratash and dived into the great gorges. The rest of that 
day’s march was a strange experience. The mountain-sides 
towered up 10,000 feet on either side, with the snouts of oc- 
casional hanging glaciers visible far above us. The river 
dashed backwards and forwards between its rocky walls, high 
up the face of which we could here and there make out the track, 
a few inches wide and carried from ledge to ledge on the 
slender trunks of young fir trees, which in summer forms the 
only communication between the inhabitants of some of the 
glens and the outer world. The worst part was a horrible 
gorge called Arasunde, which we reached latein the afternoon. 
Here the torrent was quite unfordable, and it took our loads 
nearly two hours to cover one mile, so often did the ponies 
have to be unloaded and the packs man-handled between huge 
boulders or along dangerous sections of the track, which clung 
giddily to the cliff-face above the racing flood. After this I 
had to give up hope of reaching our camping-place of the 
previous October at Bash Kupruk below the mouth of the 
Kaying Jilgha; darkness overtook us more than a mile above 
that place, and we were obliged to halt for the night on a nar- 
row strip of land boasting a few small trees and bushes for 
fire-wood but very little grazing for the animals. Though it 
was half-past seven before the loads were off and the temper- 
ature of the wind blowing up-river 42°, we were sitting down 
to a three-course dinner in D.’s tent at half-past eight, with 
beds made and everything ship-shape for the night, and all 
the men (except Ahmad Bakhsh and Murad who served us 
and supped later) laughing and talking over their evening meal 
round the camp fire. 

After that day’s march even the Tiigene-tar gorge below 
Bash Kupruk was plain sailing, and we camped at Saman in 
comparative comfort next afternoon. Here we were met 
by a consignment of grain for the horses and food for the men, 
which I had arranged to have brought up from Yangi Hissar, 
also by D.’s camel Sulaiman, which had been sent there by the 
plains route from Yarkand. He was a useful addition to our 
caravan, as my horse and D.’s had exactly five shoes between 
them by the time they reachedSaman. D.rode Sulaiman and 
our spare riding-pony alternately the last 57 miles between 


136 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


Saman and Kashgar, which we did between 9 a.m. on 14th 
April and 2.30 p.m. on the 15th. Not bad going considering 
that all but the last five of the 34 miles between Saman and 
Akhtur Bazar were over rough, stony tracks and included 
three more crossings of the Qaratash River. 


CHAPTER X 


A MURDER CASE AND A DIFFICULT 
JOURNEY 


ARLY summer in Kashgaria is a time of crystal-clear 
H mornings and noonday skies of indigo flecked with 
argosies of creamy clouds. But the weather is by 

no means monotonously perfect. Every week or two comes 
a thickening of the atmosphere and an increasing sultri- 
ness which leads up to a buran or storm of dust and rain. 
Compared with those of South Persia or Upper India these 
burans are mild affairs, though further east round the edges 
of the Takla Makan they can be bad enough. A high wind, 
a pale brown sky, a consciousness of fine loess dust collecting 
in one’s eyes and gritting on one’s teeth; this goes on for 
some hours, perhaps the whole day, and then comes a drum- 
ming and a sputtering of warm rain which passes in an hour 
or two and leaves the air clean and sweet, the garden full 
of scent and the landscape of colour. Colour—that is the 
note of Kashgarinsummer. Not only is Nature a rich mosaic 
of emerald and turquoise and ochre, but Man decks himself— 
and herself—in every colour of the rainbow. Accustomed to 
the dirty white or dust-coloured raiment of Upper India and 
Baluchistan, the effective but monotonous dark red of the 
women of Rajputana and Central India, the dead white or 
coal black affected by their sisters in Persia and Mespotamia, 
I did not know what the “ gorgeous East ”’ could be until I 
saw the bazaars at Kashgar on a summer’s morning. The 
"Id festival which comes at the end of the Ramazan fast 
happened to fall in May our first year. This is an occasion 
on which every one who can afford to do so, man, woman and 
child, comes out in new clothes—and almost every one can 
afford them, for the dyed silks of Khotan are dirt-cheap and 
even the superior products of Ferghana and Bokhara far from 
dear. To the many-hued cloaks, dresses and pork-pie hats 

137 


138 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


of the ladies are added the long striped chapans of purple, 
green and yellow sported by their husbands. But the prettiest 
pictures of all are the merry groups of little girls who roam the 
streets hand-in-hand clad in rainbow-tinted silks and cottons, 
their curls decked with red roses thrown to them from the 
flower-stalls. Many of the colours are crude enough, green 
and yellow, magenta and vermilion, mauve and peacock blue ; 
but even the gaudiest contrasts somehow blend under the 
blue sky and against the warm-toned background of wooden 
houses and loess bluffs. Of many a vivid picture one perhaps 
stands out in memory. It is of the sun sinking in glory over 
the Tien Shan, its level rays bathing farmstead and foliage 
in gold; at the door of a farm-house where there has been a 
party, a group of departing women guests stand gossiping, 
their cloaks, dresses and caps making an exquisite pattern of 
orange, maroon, apple-green, rose-pink; purple, indigo and 
lemon-yellow all enriched and blended by the golden lght ; 
beyond, the long brown walls of Old Kashgar. 

Midsummer approached, the cooling showers became rarer, 
and there came a suspicion of sultriness in the nights. The 
Chinese officials retired to the seclusion of their yamen gardens, 
the Swedes in relays to their “ hill-station’’ at Bostan Terek, 
and the Russians to their favourite camping ground at Salarma, 
ten miles from the city. As for the better-class Turkis and 
British subjects, they had already deserted the town for their 
country gardens. It would be disingenuous of me to convey 
the impression that we at the Consulate-General suffered from 
the heat and that a trip to the “ Hills’ became advisable on 
hygienic grounds. But prevention, we told ourselves, was 
better than cure ; I had one or two long reports to write which 
would be the better for the seclusion of a suitable villégiature ; 
and altogether there were cogent reasons for a short sojourn 
among the mountains. In truth, of course, it was the Happy 
Valley that called us, and there was no stopping our ears to 
its call. Whether we would succeed in reaching it or not 
was another question. The Tiimen and Qizil Su rivers were in 
full flood and several bridges had already been carried away, 
including the big one between the Old and New Cities; I had 
visions of the lower Qaratash valley brimming with turbid 
waters and our caravan struggling hopelessly in their grip. 
But I knew that even if the direct route proved impossible, 
we could still as a last resort reach Kaying Bashi by a three 
days’ détour across seven of the ‘‘ Nine Passes”’ in the Gez 





FESTIVAL 


"ID 


AN 


KASHGARI CHILDREN IN GALA ATTIRE FOR THE QURB 


AAs i 
La ene Re 
; fis 





A MURDER CASE AND A JOURNEY 139 


Valley and over the Achiq Davan to Khanterek on the Qara- 
tash. Brian O’Flynn and his camels were not available 
this time, but Zakir Haji, the carrier whom we had employed 
on our spring tour, had served us very well in the mountains, 
and we were glad to be able to secure him and his ten ponies 
once more. Our retinue included the same well-tried orderlies 
and servants who had accompanied us the previous autumn, 
except that the ex-Lancer Rahim Khan, who was really 
past his work, was replaced by our sturdy, wise old Ladakhi 
Jemadar, Ghulam Muhammad. Another notable addition to 
our caravan was the fine grey donkey we had acquired in the 
spring for the sweeper Yakub to ride, in order to save the hire 
of a special pony for him. Tooty (short for Tutankhamen) 
cost us the equivalent of 25s. 6d. at the Thursday live-stock 
market outside Kashgar, which we visited in person to buy 
him, and he carried Yakub right staunchly over hill and dale 
throughout all our subsequent wanderings. D. regarded him 
as one of her pets, and if on the march he led laborious days, 
at the Consulate between tours he lived on the fat of the 
land. He had one drawback, and that was a frequent and 
most stentorian bray. Echoing among the precipices of the 
mountains, Tooty’s bray would have awakened the Seven 
Sleepers, and every night we had to see that he was tied up 
with plenty of lucerne at least a quarter of a mile from our tents. 

On the afternoon of the 19th June we rode to Yapchan, and 
next day we lunched at Yangi Hissar. My presence at this 
_town, which is some miles to the east of the mouth of the 
Oaratash, was required for the joint trial with the Amban 
of an interesting murder case in which a Kirghiz of the Qizil 
Tagh was accused of killing a Chitrali traveller. The mur- 
dered man being a British and the accused a Chinese subject, 
the case was a “‘ mixed ”’ one triable by the Chinese authorities, 
with myself as British Consul-General ‘‘ watching ”’ it on behalf 
of the Government of India and the murdered man’s relations. * 
The details of the case are not without dramatic interest and 
are worthy of record. 

In February 1923 I received a letter from the Assistant 
Political Agent in Chitral, in the North-West Frontier Province 
of India, enclosing a petition from the relations of one Muham- 


1Tf the nationalities had been reversed, with the accused a British 
and the deceased a Chinese subject, I would have tried the case at 
Kashgar in my Consular court with the Taoyin watching it on behalf 
of the Governor. 


140 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


mad Shah. This was to the effect that the said Muhammad 
Shah, a trader of Chitral, had left Yangi Hissar in the province 
of Sinkiang in the previous December but had never reached 
his home. I requested the Taoyin to make inquiries, at 
the same time calling for a report from the British Aqsaqal 
at Yangi Hissar. The latter replied that Muhammad Shah 
had indeed left Yangi Hissar two months before, travelling 
‘alone, and had been traced as far as Ighiz Yar on the Tashqur- 
ghan road, but had not been seen or heard of since. Nothing 
happened and I had almost given up hope of the mystery 
being cleared up, when towards the end of May the Taoyin 
informed me that a man had been arrested on the charge 
of murdering Muhammad Shah at a wild spot called Sasik Tika 
in the Qizil Tagh two marches from Yangi Hissar along the 
Tashqurghan road, and that in due course he would be tried by 
the Magistrate of Yangi Hissar, Mr. Chiang. 

According to Chinese judicial procedure, the Magistrate 
of a district in which a murder has been committed is held 
responsible for this breach of law and order, and incurs a 
degree of disgrace inversely proportionate to the distance 
from his headquarters of the place where the crime was 
committed. He must proceed at once to the spot and view the 
corpse, no matter where it is or how long it has been buried, 
and hold an inquest in person. The result is that corpulent 
Mandarins, who never stir from their Yamens if they can 
possibly help it, take the greatest care that no murder be com- 
mitted within their borders, not only because of the black marks 
they receive, but also on account of the irksome journey that 
may be involved. As has happened more than once of recent 
years in Kashgaria, when a murder takes place near the 
boundary between two districts, the Beg and local headmen 
know what is expected of them and take good care that the 
body is not found within ¢heiy master’s jurisdiction. The 
people in the next district feel the same about it, and thus the 
unfortunate corpse is bandied surreptitiously backwards and 
forwards until its relatives succeed in inducing one set of 
authorities or the other to take up the case. The system has 
at any rate the advantage of keeping down violent crime, 
which is liable to cause so much trouble to everybody con- 
cerned, from the District Magistrate downwards ; and certainly 
during the two and a quarter years I was at Kashgar, out of 
all the hundreds of British Indian traders and other nationals 
travelling about the country with goods or money or living on 


A MURDER CASE AND A JOURNEY 141 


their estates, only one was murdered. That was Muhammad 
Shah, the victim in the present case. 

Poor Mr. Chiang did not at all like having to drive and ride 
forty miles up into the mountains to hold an inquest upon 
the four-month-old corpse of the Chitrali, but he did it, and one 
of my Assistant Aqsaqals accompanied him. As a result of 
the inquest a Kirghiz of Sasik Tika was charged with the 
murder and the case referred to the Taoyin of Kashgar for 
orders. I was informed, as already stated, and it was arranged 
between myself and the Taoyin, in order to save the delay and 
expense involved in bringing the case to Kashgar for trial, that 
I should visit Yangi Hissar on my way to the mountains and 
assist at the hearing of the case by the Magistrate. The trial, 
which took place on the morning after our arrival (21st June), 
was short, as the accused had confessed and it was only neces- 
sary to examine, besides the man himself, the Beg of the circle 
and the yuzbashi (headman) of the valley. The prisoner, a 
man of about 30, was of an unmistakably criminal type with 
low, receding forehead, eyes set close together, and a violent 
squint. The story he and the witnesses told Mr. Chiang and 
myself, as we sat at a huge table in the open inner courtyard 
of the Yamen, was as follows: ; 

Muhammad Shah was an opium-smuggler and had sold a 
consignment of Afghan opium profitably in Yarkand the pre- 
vious autumn. Early in December, that is to say about as late 
in the season as he could reasonably expect to cross the high 
passes safely, he started alone from Yangi Hissar for his home 
in far Chitral across the Roof of the World. He rode a wiry 
little Yarkand pony, and in his sadlle-bags he carried the 
balance of his profits in the shape of a few taels’ worth of silver 
and a couple of bales of gaily-dyed Khotan silks; for the 
greater part of the proceeds of his opium-running had doubtless 
been spent in the oiling of necessary palms and in obtaining 
from the Yamen a permit to leave the country. 

On the evening of his second day on the road Muhammad 
Shah found himself at Sasik Tika and asked for shelter at the 
solitary hut occupied by the prisoner, Yakub. The Kirghiz 
came out and looked at the traveller and his bulging saddle- 
bags. ‘“‘ We are the poorest of the poor,” he said, ‘‘ and have 
no food, but we will put you up for the night. Only, you must 
sleep outside the tent as my wife and three children are all ill 
inside.”” Accordingly Muhammad Shah, having hobbled his 
pony and muttered Mecca-wards his evening prayer, ate two 


142 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


of the little round shiny loaves he had brought with him and 
threw himself down on the felt mat which his host spread in 
front of the tent for him. For pillow he had his saddlebags 
and for bedclothes his sheepskin cloak, and he was soon fast 
asleep in spite of the icy breath of night which now and again 
passed down the gloomy valley like a sigh. 

Two hours later, when the moon had set, Yakub cgept out of 
the hut and peered stealthily at his guest in the faint starlight. 
Then he went to a heap of stones close by and selected a big 
slab which he could just carry shoulder-high. Staggering with 
it to where Muhammad Shah lay, he heaved it on the unfor- 
tunate sleeper’s head. As Yakub himself put it: “ He just gave 
a little kick and moved no more.’”’ Dragging the body on the 
felt mat as it lay, he hid it behind a boulder and went back to 
bed. Early in the morning he rose and went out, telling his 
wife (who knew nothing of what he had done) that he was going 
to work at the coal-mine.t Going to where the body lay he 
wrapped it up in the felt and heaved it first on to a boulder 
and thence on to the back of the dead man’s pony, which he 
proceeded to drive in front of him up a steep and narrow side- 
glen into the snowy fastnesses of the Qizil Tagh. Up and up 
he went, to the verge of the winter snows, and there he threw 
the corpse down into the dry bed of the torrent and buried it 
by tumbling rocks on it from above. He would have liked to 
keep the pony, but it would have been too dangerous ; so he 
tied the poor beast’s legs together and pushed it over a preci- 
pice. The dead man’s money he hid in a secret place and the 
silks he stored in the hut, telling his wife that he had received 
them from a trader in exchange for the skins of some stone- 
martens he had trapped. 

Weeks passed and nothing happened, so that gradually 
Yakub plucked up courage to go to Yangi Hissar on market 
day and spend some of his new fortune. A wedding took place 
in a neighbouring valley to which he and his wife, with all the 
other Kirghiz of the Qizil Tagh, were invited ; every one noticed 
the beautiful new silk clothes of Mrs. Yakub, and word went 
round that her husband had somehow become rich. Then one 
day the inhabitants of the Kinkol valley received an unexpected 
and unwelcome visit from their Beg, who brought grave news 
from Yangi Hissar. The British Consul-General, it appeared, 

+ A shallow surface-working on a seam recently discovered in the 


neighbourhood and exploited by the Chinese military authorities, who 
claim a monopoly of all minerals. 


A MURDER CASE AND A JOURNEY 143 


had formally requested the Taoyin, and through him their 
Magistrate, to make inquiries into the whereabouts of a British 
subject last heard of in Yangi Hissar district. This meant 
that unless they, the Beg, headmen and people of the Kinkol 
valley, could either find the fellow or prove that he had crossed 
the passes into Tashkurghan district, unpleasant things would 
happen to them. 

It was not long before the suspicions of the headmen fell 
upon our friend Yakub. The latter at first strenuously denied 
all knowledge of the missing man ; but he failed to explain how 
he had become so wealthy all of a sudden, and eventually he 
confessed. Let us not inquire too closely into the methods by 
which the Beg and his minions persuaded Yakub to be frank 
with them. Suffice it to say that according to the old Chinese 
law still in force in Sinkiang no one can be convicted of any 
crime, no matter how strong the evidence against him may be, 
unless he confesses it; so that those responsible for the sup- 
pression of crime become experts in the fine art of eliciting 
confessions from recalcitrant prisoners. From the point of 
view of the British Consulate-General, all that mattered was 
that Yakub gave Mr. Chang and myself a detailed and even 
graphic account of how he did the deed, so that Chinese justice 
could take its course, the claims of Muhammad Shah’s relatives 
in far Chitral be duly honoured and the bonds of amity between 
two great nations further strengthened through their local 
representatives. True, the said relatives of the deceased not 
only received no blood-money, as they would have done if he 
had waited till he reached his own country before getting 
himself murdered, but had to be content with a mere fraction 
of his estate—for the local people who had had so much trouble 
and anxiety over the matter, from the Beg down to the 
prisoner’s (more or less) innocent wife, could not be expected to 
disgorge more than areasonable percentage of the spoils. But 
then, Muhammad Shah had no business to indulge in opium-run- 
ning in Chinese territory. With my concurrence, the Magistrate 
found Yakub guilty of murder and condemned him to death ; 
six weeks later, when the necessary confirmation had been 
received from the Governor at Urumchi, the murderer was duly 
hanged in the presence of the British Aqsaqal of Yangi Hissar. 

To return to ourown journey. Soonafter midday, when the 
trial was over, a cloth was laid on the Court table and the 
Magistrate and I seized our chop-sticks and set to work on a 
regular Yamen dinner of about twenty-five courses which 


144 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


lasted till four. Meanwhile, lest worse should befall (for there 
was talk of another feast the same evening chez the Command- 
ant of the Garrison) I had sent word to D. to push the caravan 
off and be ready to start as soon as I could escape from the 
Yamen. Within half an hour of the disappearance of the 
longed-for bowl of rice which terminates all Chinese feasts I 
had joined her on the road and we were riding westward on a 
golden evening. Our first march wasnecessarily a short one, 
and our destination appropriately Altunluk, the ‘Golden 
Village’’ at the mouth of the Qaratash Valley. As we mounted 
the long, gentle slope on which the village and its orchards 
stand, the sun set right over the south-western Tien Shan be- 
yond which lies Ferghana; it was so clear that we could see 
the whole plain of Kashgar, sixty miles broad, and the green 
villages which stretched up to the foot-hills of the great ranges 
on three sides of it. But, alas, ominous banks of cloud 
enveloped the Alps of Qungur which had been so clear in the 
morning; once more, by a curious fatality, the mountains for 
which we were bound hid themselves from our sight as we 
approached. That night I held conclave with the greybeards 
of Altunluk and old Sabit Beg, who again came with us by 
order of the Amban, as to the route to be followed on the 
morrow. All were agreed that loaded ponies could not pos- 
sibly reach Khan Terek owing to the volume of water in the 
river. I was prepared for this, and after long argument I 
elicited from them an admission that the river could be crossed 
not far above Altunluk, if you took it at the right time of day, 
and that for the rest the only really bad place was the “ Nar- 
rows’ below Saman, where it would not be possible to ford the 
Oaratash and we would have to hug the left bank, which is pre- 
cipitous and difficult. This was better than toiling round by the 
almost waterless Nine Passes route and losing two precious days 
at Kaying, so I decided to try the direct route up the Qaratash. 
Next day (22nd June) at noon, when the daily fall in the 
level of the water had taken place,! we forded the river success- 


1It may be explained that among these mountains, as elsewhere 
in High Asia, the volume of water in the rivers increases and decreases 
daily at definite hours which depend at any particular point on the 
time taken by the water of the snows melted by the noonday sun to 
reach it. When arriving at a river, the first question the experienced 
traveller asks of the local people, if any, is ‘‘ At what hour does the 
water reach this place ?”’ or, if the daily flood is in progress, ‘‘ When 
does it godown?”’ At Altunluk the Qaratash is at its highest between 
midnight and 10 a.m. 


A MURDER CASE AND A JOURNEY 145 


fully four miles above Altunluk, where its stone-grey waters 
raced over a pebbly bed several hundred yards wide in seven 
channels. Three of these were so swift and deep that it was 
only with the help of ten sturdy lads of the village, who kept 
their feet in the flood with a skill born of long practice, that 
our animals managed to flounder across without mishap. 
One of the ponies, indeed, was carried some way down-stream 
with his load, but a party of villagers joined hands and suc- 
ceeded in pulling him into shallower water. Besides Tutan- 
khamen, we had seven donkeys laden with forage, and these 
had practically to be carried across bodily, loads and all, by 
two villagers apiece. 

For the next three hours we made good progress and fondly 
imagined we would make Saman easily by nightfall. When, 
however, at three o’clock in the afternoon we reached the 
lower end of the Narrows, we met a funny, wizened little 
old Kirghiz who told usthat the path had been carried away 
by the recent heavy rains and that it was not possible to get 
through even on foot, much less with loaded ponies. He was 
on his way home, he told us, from Yangi Hissar to the 
grazing-grounds of the upper Yapchan Jilgha, and had been 
held up by the wash-out in the Narrows. Fortunate it was for 
us that we happened upon the old Kirghiz at this juncture, for 
he knew of a pass away up among the barren ridges to the west, 
by which the Narrows could be circumvented, and offered to 
guide us over it. We afterwards came to know and like old 
Samsaq Bai, for that was his name, very well; but at first 
we suspected him of being slightly mad, for not only was his 
Turki almost unintelligible to us but he punctuated his remarks 
with strange bursts of elfin laughter. I thought it best, 
therefore, not to commit the caravan to his care at once, but 
to camp where we were on the banks of the Qaratash and spend 
the rest of the afternoon reconnoitring. The alternative, a 
depressing one, was to return to Altunluk and go round by 
the “ Nine Passes,” 

Accordingly while D. and Sangi Khan went off on foot to 
reconnoitre the path through the Narrows on their own account, 
I mounted Samsaq Bai on one of our ponies and off we went up 
into the forbidding-looking jumble of hills to the west. For six 
weary miles we toiled up waterless and absolutely barren 
defiles. Then, turning a corner, my companion pointed up to 
a sharp backbone of rock on the sky-line, cleft at one point 


only by a narrow and forbidding couloir which led up to a 
10 


146 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


small gap in the ridge. This “ pass,’’ which he called the 
Aqsai Davan, looked impossible at first, but when I climbed up 
to the foot of the couloir I found that there was a well-marked 
track straight up it between perpendicular walls with a gradient 
of about oneintwo. Icame to the conclusion that by unload- 
ing the animals and man-handling them and the loads up to 
the top we could get the caravan over, while as for the descent 
on the other side, Samsaq assured me that it was not nearly 
so steep. 

D. reported that night that the track up to the Narrows was 
good for a couple of miles, but then dwindled away until it 
became a red-clay slide going straight down to the river a 
hundred feet below. Apparently the recent heavy rains had 
washed away what track there had been. We made an early 
start next morning and reached the foot of the final col at half- 
past ten. The first animal to achieve the ascent was D.’s horse, 
which scrambled up with Sangi Khan at his head and D. hang- 
ing on to his tail. Next came the camel, Sulaiman, hauled in 
front by Yakub and propelled behind by Samsaq and an Altun- 
luk man, one of the funniest sights I have ever seen. Though 
we expected every moment that his lanky, loose-jointed legs 
would collapse, he behaved admirably and reached the top 
intact. The riding-horses, donkeys and baggage-ponies followed 
one by one, mostly without their loads, Unlike donkeys and 
camels, horses can never quite be relied upon on such occasions, 
and two of the baggage ponies at different points in the ascent 
suddenly lost heart and backed down the hill, in spite of all 
that four men reinforced by myself could do to stop them. 
In each case the animal quickly lost its footing, became wildly 
excited and rolled itself and the men off the path into the bot- 
tom of the couloir, fortunately only a few feet below the track. 
There, boulders prevented the struggling mass of pony and men 
from sliding further down the hill. Neither of the ponies 
received more than a few bruises and scratches, and they 
eventually reached the top safely. The descent proved, as 
Samsaq had said, less breakneck than the ascent, but it was 
steep enough, and we were all immensely relieved when the 
loads and animals were safely over the pass and filing down 
long winding gorges which led back to the main valley above 
the Narrows. The whole détour occupied seven hours, includ- 
ing more than two hours spent in getting over the col itself, 
i.e. five hours longer than it would have taken us to go by 
the direct route had the track been practicable. 





DISPENSING MEDICINE TO THE KIRGHIZ, CHOPKANA JILGHA 





A KIRGHIZ BRIDGE BUILT ON THE CANTILEVER PRINCIPLE, KHANTEREK, 
THE FOREMOST OF THE LADIES CROSSING IS CARRYING TWIN BABIES 


[p. 95 


sity f of 


ns 
oo P cae? \ 


ra: 


tw) 


Ban) ih): ie? 


in , ee poh dey 





A MURDER CASE AND A JOURNEY 147 


We did not halt at Saman, as there was one obstacle still 
to be negotiated before our entrance to the Promised Land 
was assured. This was a corner of rock which juts out into 
the stream at the rapids below Khan Terek. At this point 
the track passes round the rock and is under water even in 
winter, and I knew that the only chance of getting round it at 
this season would be at low water in the evening. Wecame to 
the place at half-past four, when I found to my relief that 
there were only about three feet of water off the end of the 
rock and that the current was not strong, though few feet 
farther out the cataract roared past like a gigantic mill- 
race. The loads splashed through without mishap, and half 
an hour later in the little orchard of Qurghan we were being 
warmly welcomed by a dozen beaming Kirghiz men and girls. 

The only permanent inhabitant of Khan Terek was a little 
old woman who lived alone in a tiny shanty. Each of the 
previous occasions on which we had passed her hut she had 
bustled out with a large copper jug and a wooden bowl to give 
us tea. She saw us coming this time and hobbled over to our 
camp where, for once, she had tea with us. Afterwards 
D. returned her call; she found the old lady living in a room 
about five feet square off a yard about twice that area, in 
which she kept one aged cock. Her husband had long been 
dead, she told D., and her children scattered, but one son 
occasionally came and cultivated a couple of fields near by, 
while she stayed in the hut all the year round and made tea 
for passing Kirghiz. 

The humble hospitality of even the poorest of the Kirghiz 
in these parts warmed our hearts to them. Next day three 
miles up the Chopkana valley we were overtaken by heavy 
rain and took refuge in an aq-ot. A pretty girl and her one- 
eyed old father insisted on making up a blazing fire for us 
and a bowl of tea, chatting politely to us the while. On an 
exposed meadow at the very top of the pass, 11,500 feet above 
the sea, we found a solitary aq-o1 with a girl in it whose hus- 
band was away on the hill-side tending the flocks. She had 
weather-beaten red cheeks and a flat nose, but she was charming 
and joined us in the tea-basket tea with which we warmed 
ourselves while waiting for the caravan to struggle up the last 
steep ascent. Meanwhile, in a large pot on the central fire 
of fir-logs, she brewed mach, a kind of soup of milk, barley- 
meal and water with a little meat in it, and when our men 
arrived at the top she ran out and administered it to them 


148 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


in wooden bowls. Just before we began the descent another 
lady in an immense and complicated turban arrived panting 
after us from an encampment far down among the fir-woods on 
the north side; she brought with her seven hard-boiled eggs 
and a paving-stone of bread which she insisted on presenting to 
us. We found afterwards that she was the only person in 
either the Kaying or the Chopkana valley who kept one or two 
hens. The Kirghiz are not poultry-keepers, as we knew, and 
on this visit to Kaying we took a coop of hens up with us for 
the table. One of these distinguished itself by laying an 
egg every morning in or near the bathroom of D.’s tent, so it 
was spared from the pot and presented on our departure to 
the lady of the hard-boiled eggs. 

Arrived at Kaying Bashi, we pitched our tents in a spot 
which we had marked down the previous October as an ideal 
site for a summer camp, at the edge of the fir-forest two miles 
above the ag-ois in which we had then stayed. Here was a 
meadow of rich grass by the side of the glacier-stream, 10,400 
feet above the sea, sheltered from below by a ridge covered with 
juniper and barberry and from above by a long tongue of tall 
firs stretching down from the main forest, with one grand tree, 
tallest of them all, standing out proudly at its tip. We were 
all merry as sand-boys when we had settled into camp that 
evening ; D. and I because a dream had come true and we had 
gained our Happy Valley in spite of all obstacles ; the servants 
because an enormous aq-ot was produced by the Kirghiz from 
the encampment a mile further up the valley, so that they had 
a palatial kitchen and servants’ hall in which to gossip round 
the fire, in addition to the tents we had brought for them ; 
Zakir Haji the carrier because of the luxuriant grass which 
carpeted the whole valley-bottom, on which his ponies were to 
graze free of charge for an indefinite period. 

In this secluded Paradise of forest and river, of towering 
crag and pale-green hanging glacier, of woodland glade and 
lush meadow, of natural rock-gardens filled with a hundred 
different kinds of alpine flower, we spent a never-to-be-for- 
gotten three weeks’ holiday. It was extraordinary to think 
that a little Switzerland like this should have existed un- 
suspected among the very mountains through which, by 
several different routes, sportsmen and officials and explorers 
had travelled to and from Kashgar since the seventies. At 
first the weather was unsettled and rain fell most afternoons 
and sometimes all night. But we were snug enough in our 


A MURDER CASE AND A JOURNEY 149 


-double-fly waterproof tents and had plenty to do “indoors ”’ ; 
moreover, it was nearly always brilliantly fine in the mornings. 
During the latter part of our time the weather improved and 
we had several perfect days. 

There were so many delightful things to do that the time 
passed only too quickly. My primary object was, of course, 
exploration, and in particular the discovery of a way out of the 
valley to the west or south which would enable me to map and 
photograph the Shiwakte group and the eastern face of Qungur. 
With this in view I first made a large-scale plane-table sketch 
of the Kaying Jilgha and tributary glens, and then when the 
weather improved set to work trying at various points to 
climb the knife-edged ridges which enclosed the valley. The 
only pass of any kind that led out of the Kaying Jilgha in the 
direction of Qungur or the Shiwakte, I found, was a lofty col 
which the Kirghiz called the Kepek Pass, above the main 
Kaying glacier and to the south of the magnificent snow- 
peak, 19,400 feet high, which stood at the head of our valley. 
The Kirghiz told me that this col led over to grazing-grounds 
called Aghalistan in the upper Chimghan Jilgha, but that it 
could not be crossed even by unencumbered climbers until 
August when the worst of the ice had melted off it. Personal 
reconnaissance confirmed this statement. There was in fact 
at Kaying Bashia young Kirghiz from Chimghan who had come 
by the route through the Qaratash gorges on a visit to Kaying in 
April; the water had come down before he was ready to go 
back, and he was thus cut off from his own valley only a few 
miles away until August, when he proposed to cross the Kepek 
Pass. I managed, however, to reach the top of the encircling 
ridges at two other points, each time after one or more pre- 
liminary failures. On these climbs I used to leave D. in charge 
of the faithful Hafiz and start off at 4 a.m. with Sangi Khan 
and a couple of Kirghiz carrying my plane-table, clinometer, 
cameras, sheepskin overcoat and lunch. We would set forth 
quietly, so as not to disturb the camp, into a night of velvety 
purple. Above us would tower spires and domes of blackness, 
but the snows would be scarcely visible in the starlight. Then 
slowly the purple would pale and a vision would take shape in 
the south, where the twin peaks of the great mountain at the 
head of the valley rose half-way to the zenith ; at first it would 
be grey like a cathedral of granite and then, as the dawn touched 
it, glowing golden yellow against a pale luminous blue, clear- 
cut like a jewel fashioned of topaz and enamel. Then, as 


150 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


we rose out of the valley, the sunlight gilding the heights would 
come down to meet us, and our first halt would be on some 
flowery knoll among juniper thickets or on some cliff-top 
jutting out into the wide. Here, basking in the sun, we 
would smoke the matutinal cigarette while scanning the 
corries for ibex and discussing the climb before us. 

Space and the limitations of my pen forbid a detailed 
description of these climbs or of the marvellous scenes which 
awaited my men and myself at the top of them. Three times 
we were held up by dangerous snow or unscaleable crags be- 
tween 14,500 and 15,500 feet up, but twice we succeeded in 
reaching the point at which we aimed. Once, without the 
help of yaks, we attained a col on the Sarigh Yon ridge 15,600 
feet above the sea. Here the thick snow cornice literally 
overhung a deep trough-like valley on the farther side, which 
I found to be the Tigarmansu Jilgha, a branch of the Gez 
Dara. It was a great disappointment to find that even from 
here the clear view of the whole eastern face of Qungur which 
I had confidently expected was still denied me; all except 
the top of the long massif was masked by a nearerrange. But 
the mountain panorama which stretched round me from north- 
west to north-east was stupendous enough, and I spent hours 
perched on a small rock in the snow, working at my plane- 
table and taking panoramic photographs right round the 
horizon. 

A week later, after two preliminary failures and a climb of 
6,000 feet, I attained an even more commanding position, 
on the summit of the razor-like Zumurrat ridge three miles 
south-west of camp and 16,200 feet above the sea. It was 
the aiguilles of Zumurrat that overhung the Kaying forests 
so impressively and had been dubbed by us the “ Cathedral 
Spires ’’ on our first visit to Kaying. We rode or were towed 
by yaks most of the first half of this climb, but the last 2,000 
feet were up the side of a most terrifying couloir filled with 
snow. It was one o’clock before we reached the col, and then 
I was rewarded by the finest mountain-view I have ever seen. 
Right opposite me in the west, only five or six miles away, 
stood a group of glorious mountains like colossal icebergs 
glittering in the sun, their sides clothed with hanging glaciers 
thousands of feet high. It was my first near view of the 
mysterious and inaccessible Shiwakte, and the sheer beauty 
of its four 20,000-foot peaks took my breath away. One of my 
objects was now in some measure attained, for I was able 


(ydvssojoyqaja TL) 
ADdGIY NOA HDIUVS AO dOL WOU dNOUD ALMVAMIHS AO III ANV PIII ‘I SHvad 





+ (atari, 
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a! ean 
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A MURDER CASE AND A JOURNEY 151 


during the two hours I could allow myself at the top to fix the 
summits of the Shiwakte on my map, measure their height with 
the clinometer and photograph them. As for Qungur, all 
except the top of one of his 25,000-foot domes was hidden ; 
but though I was once more disappointed of a near view of his 
eastern face, the observations I was now able to make of the 
above-mentioned dome proved afterwards of the greatest 
utility. 

Coming down I had a somewhat alarming experience. 
Crossing a small ice-filled branch of the main couloir my foot- 
hold gave way and I shot down like an arrow from a bow for 
about 40 feet, landing quite comfortably in the deep snow of 
the main couloir, but receiving some slight bruises and scratches 
on the way. I may explain that though we carried a rope on 
these climbs, we hardly ever used it, for the simple reason that the 
Kirghiz neither knew how to use a rope in climbing nor trusted 
it when they had one; they knew their own home-made ropes 
too well and thought mine were the same. On this occasion 
there was no danger, except possibly of my starting an ava- 
lanche ; this might have been serious the week before when 
we first tried the climb, but now there was not enough snow 
to make a dangerous avalanche. Two came down the couloir 
later in the afternoon, but they were not very serious affairs. 

Besides these major climbs of mine, D. and I reconnoitred 
on yaks four or five different glaciers to a height of 14,000 feet 
or more, besides other expeditions. On these occasions we 
generally took the tea-basket, and each picnic-place that we 
found was more beautiful than the last. Scrambling up 
among the loose boulders of the lateral moraines was often 
very hard work indeed, but except when clouds shut down on 
us, as they sometimes did, it was always worth while. A 
side-valley called the Ghorumda which we ascended is typical 
of the region. You follow the stream up among picturesque 
clumps of tall firs and find unexpectedly that more than half 
of it bursts out of the ground from the midst of a fir-coppice at 
the foot of the ancient terminal moraine, which rises steeply 
above for a thousand feet or more covered with alpine flowers 
and juniper-scrub. At the top of the rise are pastures with 
two or three Kirghiz huts, and away behind curves the glacier- 
filled valley up to the great ribbed and fluted ice-walls of the 
main range. One of our favourite picnic-places was a glen 
whose crystal-clear stream issued from narrow ‘“‘gates”’ in 
the steep hillside a couple of hundred yards from our camp, 


152 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


Clambering one day up its bed through a short winding gorge 
we found ourselves in a small park-like valley with grassy 
lawns, tall firs like church steeples and little firs like Christmas 
trees, junipers, willows, alders and actually the rowan-tree of 
Scotland. We christened the place ‘‘ Glen Scotland ”’ at once, 
for there were other Scottish things in it too; ferns, wild 
currants, bluebells (known to the Sassenach as harebells), 
huge thistles, billowing mosses and rain. Somehow, it rained 
twenty-five per cent. more in Glen Scotland than anywhere 
else, but when the sun shone it was more than twenty-five 
per cent. more beautiful. For there were flowers, flowers 
everywhere, filling every nook and cranny, anemones, lark- 
spurs, columbines, dragon’s head, vetches, primulas, gentians, 
campanulas, potentillas, violets blue and yellow, rock-roses, 
clematis, king-cups, blue and white forget-me-nots and hosts 
of others; and in the inmost recess of the glen, a lovely water- 
fall, a pure white column of water pouring over a fifty-foot 
cliff which said “ Thus far shalt thou go and no further.” 


CHAPTER XI 
THE PEOPLE OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 


HE Kirghiz of a valley like Kaying are genuine 
nomads, for they live almost entirely on their flocks 
and herds and move their tents from place to place 
according to the season and the state of the grazing, just as 
do the Turki and Baluch tribes of Persia and Baluchistan. 
But whereas the latter cover large areas and have sometimes 
a hundred miles or more to travel from their summer to their 
winter grazings, the whole range of the Kaying Kirghiz is 
but ten miles from end to end. Their yailags or summer 
grazing-grounds are at the feet of the glaciers 11,500 to 12,000 
feet above the sea; in April and May, and again in October 
and November, their tents are pitched where we first found 
them, at 9,000-9,500 feet, in the broadest part of the valley ; 
their gishlag or winter camping-place is at Bash Kupruk on 
the banks of the Qaratash just below its junction with the 
Kaying stream, 7,000 feet above the sea. The inhabitants 
of the adjoining Chopkana and Qaratumush Jilghas have even 
shorter distances between their summer and winter camping- 
grounds, seven and five miles respectively. Though no 
Chinese official ever penetrated these barely-accessible glens, 
they are effectively under the jurisdiction of the Amban of 
Yangi Hissar, who exacts revenue through the Beg of the 
Qaratash Circle, our friend Sabit. The Beg is responsible to 
the District Magistrate for the collection of revenue and the 
maintenance of law and order; he in his turn relies on the 
unbashis or headmen (literally, heads of ten) of the different 
glens, himself visiting his circle only once or twice a year.} 


41The four divisions of the Qaratash Circle, together with the 
(nominal) number of households in each for revenue purposes, are 
as follows: 
Qaratash, i.e. the main valley above the junction of the Chimghan 
with the main stream, 60 households. 
153 


154 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


The Kirghiz of the Kaying valley cultivate only a few acres 
of barley and eat little bread. Their staple food is milk and its 
products, katak or sour cream and gurut, a kind of cheese. 
In most tents you will also find a cauldron of mach brewing, 
the soup containing flour and milk already mentioned. Qurut 
is made by drying sour cream in goat-skins; the method is 
to hang the goat-skins full of cream about eight feet from the 
ground under a piece of cord netting stretched across the top 
of four posts. The netting keeps off eagles and hawks, while 
the height from the ground defeats dogs and other animals. 
When a Kirghiz is to be away from his home for a day or more, 
he takes with him for food a few balls of quvut, and sup- 
plements them with wild rhubarb and celery which he knows 
where to find on the mountain-side. Bread is made in solid 
lumps, the only leaven used being sour milk; the poorer 
families can seldom afford it, fortunately for their digestions. 
Meat is even more of a luxury; a sheep is only killed on great 
occasions, when the meat is boiled in large cauldrons, not 
roasted. Sometimes one of the mergens or hunters of the 
community succeeds in slaying an ibex hind with his ancient 
matchlock, and then there is great feasting. 

A valley like Kaying is almost but not quite self-supporting. 
Boots, Kashgar cotton cloth, muslin and coloured handker- 
chiefs for the ladies, knives, etc., are bought by the men on 
their rare expeditions to Yangi Hissar, or from the itinerant 
traders from the plains who visit the valley two or three times 
during the season. The money for these purchases is found by 
the sale of such surplus local products as remain after the 
revenue and other demands of the Beg have been satisfied. 
These products include live stock, raw wool, rope and matting 
made of camel’s or yak’s hair, cheese, red fox pelts and ibex 

Chimghan, with Terséze and other side-valleys, 60 households. 

Khanterek, i.e. the main valley and its branches below the great 


gorge, including Kaying, Chopkana, Yapchan, etc., 30 house- 
holds. 
Terek Kichik (among the mountains on the east side of the Qaratash), 
roo households. 
The assessment of a typical division, the Chimghan, is as follows: 
4 saghins of cheese, ie. the output of 4 yaks in a year. 
40 camel-hair ropes. 
100 chavaks of barley flour (1 chavak 20 Ilbs.). 
10 yaks or ponies to be lent for transport purposes whenever 
required. 
Besides the above, the Beg exacts one sheep per household for 
himself; he receives no pay from the Chinese authorities, 


THE PEOPLE OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 155 


horns.1 The seven families at Kaying Bashi keep about 25 
yaks, 10 ponies, 30 head of ordinary cattle and half a dozen 
camels, besides a few animals owned by the inhabitants of the 
side-glens of Sarigh Yon and Ghorumda. The total number of 
sheep and goats in the valley, I was told, is between 3,000 
and 4,000. | 

There are no houses (#a@m) in the Kaying Jilgha, only a 
few shelters made of branches under trees or against over- 
hanging rocks (kotan). The tents (aq-o1) used by the Kirghiz, 
though smaller and poorer, are similar to those described by 
Miss Sykes in the Russian Pamirs.? The average size and 
condition of the tents varies greatly in different regions ; 
we found much larger and more elaborate ones in the neigh- 
bourhood of Little L. Qarakul in the Chinese Pamirs; those 
we saw in the Tien Shan north-east of Kashgar, again, were 
smaller and less ornate but more solid, with thicker layers of 
felts and not nearly so draughty. 

A light tent like the ag-o7 with a roof shaped like a flattened 
dome and covered with felts which are far from waterproof, 
even when sound, is quite unsuited to the wet and stormy 
climate of the Alps of Qungur. That the inhabitants should 
have kept to it, refusing to build houses for themselves like 
the Kirghiz of the Qizil Tagh, is a remarkable instance of ten- 
acious adhesion to ancestral habits. They have one great 
advantage, however, over the inhabitants of the comparatively 
dry Pamirs ; instead of the small quantities of dried plants and 
dung which are the only fuel to be hadin the latter region, they 
have unlimited firewood of the best quality, fir, juniper, etc., 
all round them. In cold or wet weather you will always find 
a roaring fire in an ag-ot, and right welcome it is. The prob- 
lem of keeping the circular aperture in the roof, which does 


1A Kashgar dealer will pay as much as 24 or 3 taels (6s. 8d.-8s.) 
for a first-class red fox skin; ibex and stag horns are used by the 
Chinese in the concoction of certain medicines and dopes. 

*“ Through Deserts and Oases of Central Asia,’’ pp. 115-16. The 
figures given by Miss Sykes for the cost of an aq-oi are very much 
higher than in the Qaratash valley. I was told that the forty curved 
roof-poles and sections of trellis which compose the framework of 
an aq-oi cost 2 tengas (4d.) each, and the felts, when new, from 8 to 
15 taels between them (21s. 4d.-{£2). The camel-hair ropes and long 
strips of woollen webbing (taghar) with which the framework is bound 
together under the felts are all home-made, but could be bought for 
three or four taels; total say £2-£3. Probably Miss Sykes’ figures 
include the carpets, screens, bolsters, etc., with which an agq-oi is fur- 
nished ; these, if the owner is rich, may be worth large sums, 


156 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


duty as a chimney, open during heavy rain is solved in an 
ingenious fashion. The felt cover is pulled almost but not 
quite over it; the corner of the felt opposite to the direction 
from which the rain is coming is then lifted on the end of a 
forked pole away from the rim of the “ chimney,” thus making 
a kind of vertical ventilator facing away from the rain. The 
other end of the forked pole is held firmly in mid-air by means 
of guy ropes attached to the sides of the tent. Agq-ozs stand 
a gale very well, their shape being such that the higher the 
wind the more firmly the structure is pressed to the ground ; 
I never heard of one being blown away. To make assurance 
doubly sure, however, a large stone is sometimes placed in the 
tent and the woodwork of the roof anchored to it by a rope. 
The putting together of the aq-o1s is always done by the 
women, who are remarkably quick about it. I have seen a 
large one put up by two girls in half an hour. A middle- 
sized ag-oi forms three camel- or yak-loads when taken down. 
For short distances it can be moved bodily by ten or twelve 
men, who range themselves round the imside of the structure 
and lift it at a given signal. As they cannot see where they 
are going, they have to be steered by some one outside. 
The interior of a typical ag-o7 is full of interest. A fire burns 
merrily in the middle and a cauldron of mach simmers gently 
upon it. Farthest from the door is the ashkhana or kitchen, 
screened off from the rest of the hut by gaily-coloured mats 
made of reeds tightly wound with dyed wool. In this sanctum 
the goodwife keeps her milk, cream and curds in vast wooden 
bowls ; it is really a dairy, not a kitchen. Another arc of the 
circle is occupied by a row of very young lambs, which lie or 
stand tethered closely to a rope pegged down along the walls, 
In wet weather the young lambs, if any, are kept most of the 
day inside the tents ; once when I took refuge for the night in 
an ag-ot and threw myself down upon the felt which had been 
spread for me, I was astonished to feel what I thought was a 
pillow under the top end of the rug move when I put my head 
on it; it was a solitary lamb, very woolly and very surprised. 
Round the walls, from the convenient pegs provided by the 
upper ends of the trellis, hang all kinds of odds and ends; 
bashitks or bright-hued saddle-bags of patchwork or painted 
leather, sieves, fur-rimmed hats, big balls of newly-spun wool, 
skins full of curds, hatchets, chapans or quilted coats and so on. 
There will usually be a dotar or long-stemmed guitar made from 
a gourd, and an ancient matchlock of immense length with a 


THE PEOPLE OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 157 


forked rest attached to the barrel. A quarter of the circum- 
ference is occupied by a pile of rolled-up felts, bolsters and rugs ; 
the wealth of the owners may be accurately gauged from the 
size of this pile, just as that of cottagers in a German forest 
may, according to Mark Twain, be judged by the dimensions 
of the manure-heap outside their door. 

In some parts of the Chinese Pamirs the Kirghiz are said 
to be dying out, but I do not think this is the case among the 
Alps of Qungur. We found that few households contained less 
than two children ; one woman had four and another told D. 
that shehad had eight. Infant mortality is high, and the race 
is not prolific ; if it were, the Malthusian problems raised would 
be insoluble in a country where the grazing, though excellent 
in quality, is strictly limited in quantity. But the Kirghiz 
of the Qaratash basin are by no means decadent or weakly, and 
the scanty population is, if anything, increasing. Considering 
their complete ignorance of hygiene and rules of diet, they are 
a remarkably healthy race, thanks no doubt to the open-air 
life they lead and to their avoidance of houses. The chief 
ailments D, came across in her amateur doctorings (which 
were enormously appreciated and had, so far as we knew, no 
fatal results) were skin diseases, indigestion and other stomach 
troubles, as well as running sores which looked in some cases 
as if they might be tuberculous. Some of the faces were pitted 
by small-pox, but not badly. It is interesting to note that 
the Qizil Tagh Kirghiz, who have given up tents and taken 
to houses, are subject to epidemics and are probably dying 
out. In one of the valleys of that region we passed a whole 
settlement which had been depopulated three years before 
by an epidemic of some fatal disease and was now deserted. 
Though the Kirghiz never wash, their ag-ois are as a rule 
carefully swept and free from vermin, and we seldom had any 
qualms about sleeping in them on occasion, 

The women, as has already been noticed, are frank, fear- 
less, self-reliant and natural, in refreshing contrast to their 
Turki sisters, at any rate in the towns, 


‘There is a sort of Scotch-ness about them”’ (says D. in one of her 
letters from Kaying Bashi), “‘ a common-sense that is entirely lacking 
in the people of the plains. They love woolly gloves, muslin, mirrors, 
buttons, pins and so on because of their usefulness, not only because 
of their novelty, and would rather have enough plain stuff to make 
a dress or coat than the yard or two of bright-coloured satin which 
a Turki woman would immediately go for.... There is one 
extremely attractive and coquettish lady in this valley, but she is 


158 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


the exception rather than the rule, and most of them simply treat the 
men as their equals, though perhaps finding them a little stupid !” 


In the Chopkana Jilgha there was a Turki girl from Yangi 
Hissar married to a Kirghiz. D. noticed at once how different 
she was from the others, more sophisticated and not nearly 
so efficient. She was a fish out of water, poor girl, and not 
at all happy. The only specimen of a Turki-Kirghiz hybrid 
we came across was a youngish, unhealthy-looking little man 
called Tash Mulla who attached himself to us in the Yapchan 
Jilgha. Hewas rather too clever and pushing, and we did not 
like him as well as some of the pure Kirghiz. 

The strength and hardiness of the women are astonishing. 
They are splendid workers, not only doing all the house- 
hold work but milking the yaks, cows, sheep and goats, weaving 
the rugs and other woollen articles, making the rope, pitching 
and striking the aq-o7s and performing many other duties. The 
men are inclined to be lazy and are fond of twanging the 
guitar until a late hour and lying abed of a morning. But 
they are wiry and capable of great exertions, and they do not 
by any means leave all the work to the women, as is usually 
said of the men in other Kirghiz communities. They are 
responsible for the cultivation of the barley-fields, as well as 
for the safety of the flocks and herds on the mountain-side. 
Anyone who thinks that Kirghiz men enjoy a sinecure can try 
looking after thirty self-willed yaks or a couple of hundred 
sheep on a grazing-ground 5,000 feet from top to bottom and 
pitched at an angle of forty-five degrees. 

There could be no more interesting hunting-ground for the 
naturalist than these narrow but well-watered and sheltered 
valleys, islanded between the belt of utterly barren foothills 
on one side and the snowy wastes of the great ranges on the 
other. There must have been many interesting local varia- 
tions, possibly even new species, among the plentiful fauna of 
the Kaying Valley alone, had we but possessed the know- 
ledge and skill to collect them. Snow leopards exist, but 
fortunately for the Kirghiz are uncommon ; one killed a yak 
calf and ten sheep just before we arrived in June 1923. I saw 
several herds of ibex ; it was hard not to be able to go after 
them, but a man cannot serve two masters and I had to choose 
between the delights of the chase and the sterner but more 
fruitful cult of the plane-table. Wolves exist in some of the 
valleys, but the Kirghiz had cleared Kaying of them. Red 
foxes, as I have already mentioned, are occasionally trapped, 





SUMMER AT KAYING BASHI 


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THE PEOPLE OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 159 


and we saw plenty of golden marmots at a height of 12,000 
feet. A curious rodent about the size of a guinea-pig lived 
in the fir-forest at 11,000 feet, also a very small red stoat. 
Hares were plentiful among the juniper woods at 10,000 feet. 
The highest point at which I found animal life was 16,000 feet, 
where I saw running about on the snow a small eight-legged 
spider which is probably the same as that seen by the 
climbers of Mount Everest at an immense altitude. I also 
noticed a minute animal like a lizard about an inch long on 
the moraine of the Torbashi Glacier at 14,500 feet. Birds also 
are well represented, and include the black eagle, several kinds 
of hawk, red-legged partridge, Tibetan snow-cock, chough, 
raven, long-tailed magpie, rock-pigeon and many of the 
common small birds of northern Europe. 

I have already spoken of the amazing profusion of wild 
flowers which in June and July turned the terminal moraines 
of the glaciers, as well as the marshes, meadows and forest 
glades into veritable gardens. We did as much amateur 
botanizing as our other pursuits and our total ignorance of 
botany permitted. In the course of our two summer visits to 
Kaying Bashi we pressed some thirty-seven varieties and 
secured the seeds of seven or eight. D. also painted most of 
the prettier ones in water-colours. The flower that excited 
us most was a sweet-smelling kind of crawling purple stock, 
which grew only in small isolated patches among the loose 
stones of glacier moraines between 13,000 and 14,000 feet 
above the sea, by far the highest-growing flower we found. 
On our return to England we presented our small collection 
to the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew. To a layman, the 
interesting thing about it, according to the Kew experts, was 
that it belonged to a distinctly Central Asian rather than a 
Himalayan type, although the valleys in question are only 
about 180 miles as the crow flies from similar regions in Nor- 
thern Kashmir, the flora of which is Himalayan. Like most 
of the flowers, the conifers of the Alps of Qungur belong to the 
Tien Shan rather than to the Himalayas ; with the exception 
of the small fir-woods seen by us in the Qizil Tagh and heard 
of in one or two places in the Yarkand River valley, they 
mark the extreme south-eastern limit of the Tien Shan fir 
(Picea schrenkiana). For twelve hundred miles eastward, the 
whole length of the great Kunlun and Altyn Tagh Ranges, not 
a fir-tree is to be found ; thencome the forests of the Nan Shan, 
which flourish under moisture-laden winds from the far Pacific. 


160 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


A week before the end of our stay we proclaimed a jour de 
fée and invited all the Kirghiz of the Kaying and adjoining 
valleys to a feast. About twenty women came, some of them 
carrying babies over dizzy heights and through roaring torrents, 
and a similar number of men. The proceedings were opened 
by eight of the men playing an exhibition game of oghlak in 
our honour on the wide meadows half a mile below our camp. 
This game, also called baigu and (by the Afghans) buzkashi or 
“ goat-pulling,” is a kind of Rugby football on horseback 
played “‘ all gainst all,’ with the headless carcase of a freshly- 
killed goat as the ball, It is seldom played except in honour 
of some distinguished visitor, who acts as umpire and pays 
for the goat. The umpire indicates a flat-topped rock or a 
mark on the ground as the goal; the players struggle among 
themselves for possession of the “ ball,’’ and whoever is success- 
ful dashes off with it across his saddle. The others chase and 
jostle him until he drops it; one of them, leaning right out 
of the saddle, succeeds in picking it up and the process is 
repeated. The object is to throw the “ ball” on to the goal, 
and whoever does this oftenest wins the game. 

During the play we noticed that our lady guests sat by 
themselves in a picturesque group on the hillside some distance 
away; it seemed that according to Kirghiz custom women 
and children are not allowed to watch oghlak being played. 
After the game we all trooped back through the woods to 
camp, led by the winner with the goat as the prize of victory 
at his saddle-bow. Since the previous afternoon the Kaying 
Bashi women had been baking bread in their tents at our 
expense ; three sheep—one for the ladies and two for the men 
—had been stewing half the morning in big cauldrons brought 
down from the encampment for the purpose, and tea by the 
kerosene-tinful had been brewing on our kitchen fire. The 
ladies and children sat in a ring on mats and felts near D.’s 
tent, while the men under my charge formed a separate circle 
on the grass thirty yards away. D. had cornered all the tea- 
cups and wooden soup-bowls in the valley for her guests, but 
the men did not mind; each one whipped off his waistband 
and spread it in front of him as his dastarkhwan or tablecloth, 
and waited for one of the orderlies or myself to heap upon it 
his share of the savoury contents of the cauldrons. Mean- 

1 For a detailed description of this game as played in the Chinese 


Pamirs, see Miss Sykes, “‘ Through Deserts and Oases of Central 
Asia.” 


THE PEOPLE OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 161 


while the ladies were already tucking into the liberal helpings 
of bread and mutton handed round by D. and Ahmad Bakhsh, 
washed down by bowl after bowl of tea rich with sugar and the 
milk of yaks. Some of them had brought special contri- 
butions to the feast in the shape of strange fried pastries, 
which they shared with their friends. One good lady from 
Chopkana amused us by unfolding a large handkerchief full 
of a kind of small fried buns; the others were about to fall 
upon it, when she snatched it up and said, pointing to the 
men’s party, ““No! This is for the other guests!’’ So the 
fried buns were borne off in triumph for the men, to the delight 
of the proud donor. When all was finished except the titbits 
which some of the ladies tied up in their red handkerchiefs 
for the children they had left at home, photographs were 
taken and the women adjourned in a body to D’s. tent for 
medicines and initiation into the mysteries of the toilet- 
table. The men, after cigarettes and a suitable interval for 
digestion, spent an uproarious evening running wheel-barrow 
and three-legged races, cockfighting and competing in various 
other novel sports. 

The marriage customs of the Kirghiz inhabiting these 
remote and secluded valleys of the Kashgar Range differ 
in some respects from those described by previous writers 
in connexion with the less isolated and therefore probably less 
primitive Kirghiz of Russian Central Asia. It may therefore 
be of interest to record the information I obtained regarding 
them, both at Kaying and at the wedding party which, as 
already described, we attended in the upper Qaratash valley 
the previous April. The position as regards marriage among 
these mountain people is exactly the reverse of that found 
among the Turkis of the plains. At Kashgar women are at 
a discount, wives are cheap and divorce even cheaper. Among 
the Kirghiz, on the other hand, girls are at a premium and a 
would-be bridegroom or his father has to pay a heavy bride- 
price, which usually varies between ten and thirty yaks or 
their equivalent in other kinds of live stock. Ordinarily, when 
a boy has reached the age of six or seven and may therefore be 
expected to survive till manhood (infant mortality is no 
lower among the Kirghiz than it is among the Turkis) his 
parents betroth him to some neighbour’s daughter of about 
the sameage. This transaction, known as the galam, is usually 
the result of long haggling about the bride-price, in which the 
female relatives of both parties play a leading part. Suppose 

1] 


162 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


the price is fixed at ten yaks; the boy’s father pays a first 
annual instalment of one yak, the girl’s father gives the boy 
in return a shirt or a coat as a token of the betrothal, and 
the galam is complete. It may, however, be broken off at 
any time before the nikah by mutual consent, in which case the 
instalments paid are refunded. When all the yaks have been 
paid and the young couple have reached the ages of, say, four- 
teen and sixteen years respectively, the bride’s people invite all 
the neighbours to a feast at which the marriage is announced. 
The bride and bridegroom do not attend this “‘ wedding break- 
fast,’’ remaining in their tents in the background all day. The 
feast and announcement, known as the nuzkah, constitute the 
wedding, there being no other ceremony. The bridegroom, 
however, cannot yet take his bride away to his own home. 
She continues to live for a period varying from two to five 
months with her parents, during which time the latter make 
and furnish an ag-oz with its felts, rugs, wall-hangings, screens, 
pots, pans, cushions, milk-bowls and other appurtenances 
complete for the young people. During this period the bride- 
groom lives at his own home if near, otherwise in an ag-os 
lent him by the bride’s parents, and visits the bride every week or 
ten days. These visits are supposed to be kept secret from her 
father, who must not see the bridegroom entering or leaving 
the bride’s tent. During the whole of this period the bride- 
groom must never appear before his father-in-law unless he 
is wearing his caps and boots and has his stick in his hand, 
as if he were a stranger from afar. At this stage if the bride 
is unfaithful (but not otherwise) the bridegroom’s father 
can demand the price back and break off the match. When 
the aq-oz is finished, the bridegroom takes it and the bride away 
to his own place, on which occasion some show of resistance 
is made by the girl’s relations—an obvious survival of the 
marriage by capture idea. After a year (not before) the wife 
can “ give a divorce’”’ to her husband by returning him the 
price paid for her—exactly the reverse of what happens in 
the plains, where it is the husband who (if he likes) “‘ gives ” 
a divorce to his wife. 

At last the time came to bid the Happy Valley and our 
Kirghiz friends a sad farewell; for we did not expect to be 
able to visit it again the following year before going down the 
road to India, as we eventually did. We did not, however, 
return to the plains by the way we had come. Old Samsaq 
Bai, the Kirghiz who had come to our rescue on the way up and 


THE PEOPLE OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 163 


had guided us over the Aqsai Pass, came one day to Kaying 
Bashi and invited us to his camp at Bozarga in the Yapchan 
Valley, which he said was a more beautiful yazldgq than Kaying, 
I did not believe him, nor could I quite make out where his 
place was, but the chance of breaking new ground was too 
good to be missed. Sending our caravan down to Khanterek 
to wait for us, we took with us two orderlies and four yak- 
loads of baggage and set off on 15th July across the Chopkana 
Pass with our old friend. The march was an arduous but 
most exciting one. After crossing the pass, instead of des- 
cending the Chopkana Valley we kept round to the left, diving 
into a deep glen and climbing out of it again. Then we 
traversed for several miles the steep northern face of Yelpak- 
tash, the three great crags of which, 13,000-14,000 feet high, 
towered above us on the left.. We were now climbing along 
the back of the knife-edge ridge which shuts the Kaying Valley 
in from the north. In some places the trail crossed unpleasant 
rocky outcrops, in others the muddy tracks of recent landslides, 
where the whole mountain-face, forests and all, seemed in a 
state of unstable equilibrium; elsewhere again the path, 
level and well engineered, led through pleasant forest glades 
for all the world as if we were among the Simla Hills. At 
last we came out on the beautiful ‘‘ alp’’ of Yapchan Yailaq,} 
where grassy knolls knee-deep in flowers jutted out from the 
steep fir-clad flank of K6k Dong. Below, a deep and narrow 
gorge wound away down to the invisible Qaratash. This 
gorge, they told us, was impassable by man or beast, the only 
access to the head of the Yapchan Valley being by the round- 
about way we had come. Right opposite us towered almost 
perpendicular crags of deep-red sandstone 1,500 feet high, 
crowned with fir-forest. Further progress on our side was 
impossible, for the woods ended abruptly in an abyss a thousand 
feet deep and about half a mile broad, the gash made by an 
immense landslide in past ages. But Samsaq took us down 
a steep zigzag track among dense thickets of briar rose into 
the depths of the gorge till we came to the meeting-place of 
two white torrents ; fording one and scrambling up the boul- 
ders at the side of the other we found ourselves opposite a 
cleft in the apparently overhanging red sandstone cliffs. The 
place seemed a perfect cul-de-sac ; if we had not known that 
Kirghiz lived up there and that this was the only route, we 

ae to do with Yapchan village on the Kashgar-Yangi Hissar 
road. 


164 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


would not have believed it possible to go further. Samsaq 
took us across the stream and we crawled up a muddy zigzag 
path, hanging on to the tails of the yaks, right up to a kind 
of immense alcove in the precipice. Here surely, we thought, 
must be the end ; but our cunning old guide led the way along 
a ledge, invisible from below, by which we traversed the over- 
hanging cliffs and found ourselves in a steep and narrow but 
fairly straightforward gully. Further up we came to masses 
of wild rose and clematis with clumps of fir and a spring of 
sweet water, until at last, 2,000 feet above the bottom of the 
Yapchan gorge and 11,500 feet above the sea, we saw the 
ag-ots of Samsaq and his large family above us on a grassy 
knoll against a background of forest. 

The ladies made us welcome and D. was soon installed in 
the aq-ot that had been vacated for us. While she set to work 
preparing the dinner on a couple of spirit-stoves, I took my 
plane-table out (I had made a rough “route traverse ’’ the 
whole way from the Chopkana Pass) and fixed the position of 
the camp from the top of a neighbouring ridge, Opposite 
me, to the south, was the sword-point of Kok Déng, nearly 
17,000 feet high ; around and below, a beautiful Alpine country 
of green ridges and fir-crowned red sandstone crags enclosing 
wooded glens ; to the east, vistas of grey-brown peaks and hills 
descending, tier after tier, to the plains which stretched away 
to the north-east, flecked with patches of cultivation like the 
desert with cloud-shadows. That evening in our ag-o1 D. 
proudly served a dinner consisting of soup, fricassee of chicken 
and a sweet omelette, while round us in the warm still air 
sheep bleated, yaks grunted, ponies whinnied and a Kirghiz 
in one of the tents above twanged his guitar and sang an end- 
less song. 

Hearing that an easy pass called the At Bel (‘ Pass of 
the Horse’’) led over the ridge behind the camp into the 
Tigarmansu Jilgha—the same trough-like glen filled with 
forest into which I had peered from the top of the heights 
above Kaying Bashi—I decided to halt a day at Bozarga 
and reconnoitre it. That night, however, a tremendous 
storm of wind and rain came on which put surveying and 
photography out of the question and kept us prisoners in our 
leaky and draughty a@qg-ot the whole of the next day. It 
was disappointing to have come so far for the pleasure of 
sitting wrapped up in rugs and waterproofs all day, but 
knowing the climate we did not despair. While I pored over. 





PEAK I OF SHIWAKTE GROUP, FROM 1,600 FEET COL BETWEEN TORBASHI 
GLACIER (UPPER KAYING JILGHA) AND HEAD OF TIGARMANSU JILGHA [p. 273 


Say fi sint 
Priam Bias bana ae 
; oh by) 


[ i 
deeds 
y 
f 





THE PEOPLE OF THE HAPPY VALLEY 165 


my map on the plane-table, plotting-in elusive mountain- 
peaks and struggling with recalcitrant contour-lines, D. 
conjured happily with saucepan and spirit-lamp, producing 
meal after meal with the most praiseworthy ingenuity. She 
also held her usual “‘ sick parade ”’ outside the hut in spite of 
the rain, dispensing her three or four stock medicines, rubbing 
sore infants and advising anxious mothers on the subject of 
diet. Peering once with a shiver through the doorway I 
saw her walled in by a picturesque crowd of women in many- 
coloured costumes and immense turbans, marshalled by the 
good-humoured Hafiz, and hoped at least that they were 
keeping the rain off her. Nothing would induce her to come 
in until something had been done for everybody. One lady 
had come all the way from the Qaratumush Jilgha, beyond 
Kaying, carrying a child; in two days she had crossed three 
passes, one of them a snow-clad knife-edge of rock 15,000 feet 
high, and had forded four torrents—all in order to consult D. 
as to how she could be sure of having some more children |! 

As we had expected, next day (17th July) was brilliantly fine 
with the air washed clear as crystal and the colours of meadow 
and flower, red crag and dark green fir-coppice positively 
startling in their vividness. It was cruel to have to leave it 
all and plunge down into the barren maze of foothills which 
lay between us and the plains. Before starting for Saman 
where our caravan awaited us we climbed 1,500 feet to the 
top of the Zor Qir (“ Great Ridge ’’) behind the camp, from 
which we looked down upon the grassy saddle of the At Bel 
(12,000 feet) and caught a glimpse of ag-o#s on green lawns far 
down the further side. The beauty .of the scene was inde- 
scribable, and we longed to bask in the sun on the top of the 
“ Great Ridge ”’ tillevening. But though I secured some most 
useful “‘ rays,’’ I was disappointed to find that the view I 
sought of Qungur’s eastern face was still denied me; only 
the top of his eastern dome peered at us over the 17,000-feet 
ridge which encloses the Tigarmansu Jilgha from the north, 

It was past noon before we tore ourselves away from our 
mountain-top, and in order to make Saman before nightfall 
we had to hurry along the switchback trail to the Chopkana 
jilgha. Here we found our riding-ponies awaiting us by 
arrangement and sent back Samsaq’s yaks. The old man had 
begged us not to take them the whole way down to Saman ; 
the Kirghiz never bring their yaks below about 9,000 feet in 
summer if they can possibly help it. 


166 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


Next day when we crossed the Aqsai Pass—a much easier 
task from the north than from the south—it was again bril- 
liantly clear. While the loads were being man-handled down the 
breakneck north side of the col I put up my plane-table for the 
last time. Though we were but 9,400 feet up, as against 13,000 
the previous morning, we enjoyed a better view of mighty 
QOungur and its satellites,as well as of Chakragil, than we had 
had from Zor Qir. There, we had been too close to the high 
mountains to see them properly ; here, at a distance of 24 to 
26 miles, intervening hillocks of sixteen or seventeen thousand 
feet sank into insignificance. The Shiwakte group with its 
sheaf of needle peaks pierced: the sky like the mountains 
in a fairy story; in bulk, indeed, though not in beauty, 
they were dwarfed by the gigantic mass of Qungur, which 
for nearly 10 miles of its length is nowhere less than 23,000 
feet high.? 

In the evening we forded the seven channels of the Qara- 
tash above Altunluk and slept the sleep of the just in the 
apricot-orchard of the same Yuzbashi who had tried so hard 
to dissuade us from our mad attempt to reach Kaying Bashi 
in the high-water season. With the help of the tarantass, 
which met us at Akhtur Bazar, we made short work next day 
of the remaining 35 miles, and the same evening we were 
revelling once more in the green glooms and luscious fruits of 
Chini Bagh. 

1 For the fine telepanorama of the Qungur Massif secured on this 
occasion, see ‘“‘ Geographical Journal,’? November, 1925. 


CHAPTER XII 


ARCHAOLOGY, ART, LEGENDS AND 
SUPERSTITIONS 


Nous admirons l’Asie bien que sa sagesse ne puisse rien nous 
apprendre, pour la méme raison qui pousse les Américains a visiter 
Europe; parce que nous avons besoin de retrouver, d’admirer, de 
sauver les restes des vieilles civilisations qualitatives, que nous détrui- 
sons impitoyablement tous les jours pour augmenter notre richesse 
et notre puissance. 

Cest la tragédie du monde moderne; on ne le répétera jamais 
assez. Les vieilles civilisations qualitatives, qui avaient pour but 
la perfection et non la puissance, sont notre paradis perdu. 

. . . On trouve encore en Asie ce qu’on ne trouve presque plus 
en Europe, des restes vivanis de ce grand passé: mooeurs, traditions, 
méthodes d’éducation, vertus. 

GUGLIELMO FERRERO 


first time from the south cannot fail to be impressed 

by the fairness of complexion and almost European 
cast of features displayed by many of the inhabitants, com- 
pared with the populations he has left behind him in Kashmir 
and Upper India. It has, indeed, been proved from the 
anthropological materials collected by Sir A. Stein that the 
race which inhabits the Tarim Basin still retains a large 
proportion of the fine Homo alpinus type.! This, it is true, 
is found in its purity only in a few secluded mountain regions, 
notably among the Tajiks of the Sarikol Valley and the Tagh- 
liks or ‘mountaineers’ of Pakhpo near the head-waters of 
the Tiznaf River. On the plains, and especially in districts 
such as Kashgar and Aqsu which lie on the “ highway of the 
nations,’ there is a noticeable admixture of Turkish and 
Mongol blood: Still, on the whole it may be said that the 
prevailing type among the dwellers in the oases on the western 

1 ‘Geographical Journal,’ June, 1925, p. 495. 

2 Stein, ‘‘Ruins of Desert Cathay,’’ Vol. I, p. 150. 

167 


‘he: traveller who enters Chinese Turkistan for the 


168 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


and southern fringe of the Takla Makan Desert is the same 
as that still found among the valleys of the Italian Alps and 
the Caucasus—found, too, by Stein in the third-century graves 
of Loulan at the eastern end of the Tarim Basin. 

I have already referred in Chapter V to the illustration 
afforded by Kashgaria of the racial continuity and persistence 
of a population firmly rooted in the soil, especially when 
the extreme fertility of that soil depends entirely upon an 
elaborate system of irrigation. This permanence is in striking 
contrast with the state of perpetual change and flux which 
has through the ages characterized the history of Central 
Asia as a whole. Throughout the vast spaces of Mongolia, 
Dzungaria and Turkistan the winds of migration and conquest 
have swept to and fro; from the Gobi Desert to the Euxine, 
from Chalons to the Yellow Sea, the great nomad peoples, 
Hun and Turk and Mongol, have ransacked the world in the 
lust of dominion and the search for new grazings. Over the 
Tarim Basin, too, they have passed time after time, but 
they have left little impress upon it. The reason is not far 
to seek. With a rainfall of but two or three inches per annum, 
the grass that pastoral peoples need scarcely exists. 


“Nature”? (says Stein) ‘‘ by denying grazing-grounds to the vast 
basin between Kunlun and Tien Shan, has protected it against ever 
becoming the scene of great migratory movements and of such up- 
heavals as are bound to accompany them.” ? 


It is the aridity of its climate, then, as well as the seclusion 
afforded by some of the greatest mountain ranges of the 
planet, that has preserved the population of the Tarim Basin 
relatively intact since the dawn of its history in the second 
century before Christ. But it is not this continuity alone 
that lends such exceptional interest to the history of the 
region. There are people with as high a lineage in other 
secluded parts of Asia and Europe. The peculiar feature 
of the history of the Tarim Basin is the fact that throughout 
a vast period of historical time it served as the channel through 
which the ancient civilizations of China on the one side and 
of Persia and India on the other maintained contact and to 
an appreciable extent reacted upon each other. 

From the second century before Christ to the eighth century 
of our era there flourished in these oases a civilization in 
which, though it was predominantly Indo-Scythian, cultural 


1 «*Geographical Journal,’ May, 1925, p. 403. 


= 


ART, LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 169 


influences from the China of the Han and Tang Emperors 
mingled with those transmitted through Iran and North-West 
India from the great world of Hellenism in the West. It was 
through the channel of the Tarim Basin and the medium of 
its settled populations that the fame of the “ silk-weaving 
Seres ”’ and the fine products of Chinese looms reached the 
Mediterranean and became known throughout the Roman 
Empire. It was by this same route that the elements of 
Indian as well as of Greco-Roman art and culture reached 
China’s western borders. More important still, it was along 
the Khotan road that Buddhism, in Stein’s words ‘ India’s 
greatest contribution to the spiritual development of man- 
kind,” found its roundabout way in the first century of our 
era to China through the Central Asian kingdoms. 

It would be presumption for me to attempt even the briefest 
survey of the immense field covered by the archeological 
discoveries of Sir Aurel Stein among the sands of the Takla 
Makan and elsewhere in Chinese Turkistan and Kansu. I 
can but refer the art-loving reader to those monuments of 
fascinating if recondite erudition, ‘‘ Ruins of Desert Cathay,” 
“ Serindia,’’ and the rest. Here will be brought vividly before 
his eyes the splendour of Khotan’s Greeco-Buddhist civilization, 
in the days when that ancient kingdom was culturally an Indian 
colony. He will discover for himself how exquisitely that 
civilization was tinged by the classic art of China; he will see, 
on the other hand, how in the east of the province and along 
the great Silk Road the powerful influences of Grzeco-Buddhist 
and even of purely Persian art modified the work of Chinese 
masters. The frescoes of Miran, the classical seals of Yotkan, 
the relievos of Khadaliq, the wood-carvings of Niya, the 
amazing painted silks, brocades, tapestries and embroideries 
of the Cave of the Thousand Buddhas—these and many other 
beautiful things appeal to the lover of art, and not to him 
alone. They appeal even more strongly to the Western 
student of les vieilles civilisations qualtatives, as Ferrero calls 
them, which aimed at perfection rather than progress or 
power—the old civilizations which we have so ruthlessly 
destroyed in our pursuit of wealth and our conquest of the 
earth, and which now, too late, we find to be our lost Paradise. 

My few excursions into this field of research may be dismissed 
briefly. In the course of long tours on Consular duty, when 
our programme had to be thought out carefully beforehand 


1 Ruins of Desert Cathay,” Vol. I, p. 290-91. 


170 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


and the time spent on the road and at towns reduced to a 
minimum in order that the ground might be covered, it would 
have been impossible for me to attempt any excavation or 
systematic clearing of new sites, even if I had wished to dis- 
regard Sir Aurel’s injunction not to “‘ dig up tombs.”’ North 
of Domoko on the Khotan-Keriya road, in the wilderness of 
tamarisk-cones on the edge of the great desert, we found after 
a long search Sir Aurel’s “‘ Khadaliq ”’ site, and photographed 
it in order to ascertain the extent to which it had been silted 
up by drift-sand since excavation. On our second visit to 
Keriya, in April, 1924, a British subject called Abbas Khan 
brought me two fine specimens of ancient weaving-combs, 
heavy wooden instruments with a row of short teeth with 
which carpet-weavers “pack” the pile on the warp, also a 
recumbent angel in stucco in excellent condition and some very 
fragmentary leaves of Kharosthi manuscript. He said he 
had taken these from an ancient site he had discovered the 
previous year one “ potai’’ (2} miles) north of Stein’s Khadaliq 
site. He described a loess mound or hill “a hundred gaz 
high ”’ (200 feet—an obvious exaggeration), in which he had 
dug to a depth of about 12 feet, with great difficulty, as the 
earth was continually collapsing on top of him; he had then 
come to a chamber with plaster frescoes on all four walls and 
the roof supported by wooden columns. As he worked three 
of the walls collapsed and the frescoes were destroyed, but the 
fourth remained in position. It contained a picture 3 feet by 
2 feet showing men on horses, etc. Other finds were a large 
mill-stone, too heavy to be turned by hand, and a big earthen- 
ware pot with two handles, full of bones, some charred. This 
latter was found in the mound 3 feet outside the chamber. 
Abbas Khan’s measurements were probably very far out, but 
there is no reason to suppose that his story was an invention, 
for he was very anxious that I should go with him and see 
the place on our return journey. Unfortunately we had 
already arranged to go home by another route, so that I had 
no opportunity of examining Abbas Khan’s new site. 

At Khotan our Armenian friend, Mr. Keraken Moldovack, 
and the ex-Aqsaqal Khan Sahib Badruddin Khan allowed me 
to take for presentation to the British Museum a selection of 
ancient Buddhist manuscripts, Greek plaster masks, terra- 
cotta figurines and appliqué ornaments, intaglios, vases, 
paintings on wood and stucco, wooden household implements, 
coins and other objects collected by them from ‘‘ Taklama- 


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ART, LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 171 


kanchis ”’? who had brought them back from various desert 
sites.1 Our most interesting excursions, however, were in 
November, 1922, and May, 1924, when we visited the site of 
Yotkan, the ancient capital of the Kingdom of Khotan, some 
five miles south-west of the modern town. A few months 
before our first visit a great mass of loess bluff some 20 feet 
high had fallen away owing to erosion by irrigation water, 
and had laid bare a new section of the Yotkan “ culture 
stratum ’’ from 2 feet 3 inches to 5 feet 4 inches thick, lying 
at an average depth of 15 feet below the upper level of the 
fields. The composition of this stratum was of a stiff bluish 
clay, and its contents consisted chiefly of potsherds, animal 
bones, lumps. of charcoal, coins and small metal objects 
corroded almost out of recognition, fragments of white jade, 
red and green glass and so on. But more valuable and inter- 
esting objects had also been found by the treasure-seekers 
who had been washing the clay of the stratum for gold most 
of the summer. In this place where “ trippers’’ were un- 
known it did not seem to occur to these people that we might 
be ready to buy curios found by them during their washings 
for gold in the stratum, and it was only with the greatest 
difficulty that we induced them to bring along a few articles 
they had found. Anything containing gold or precious stones, 
good jade, etc., had of course been sold in the Khotan bazaar 
long before, but we succeeded in buying from the villagers a 
few objects of interest. Of these the best were a beautiful 
little soapstone figure of the goddess Saraswati and her pea- 
cock, a couple of carnelian intaglios and some quaint clay 
animals. 

1 This small collection, including objects bought at the Yotkan site, 
at Goma and elsewhere, is at present in the Ethnographical section 
of the British Museum. The most interesting items are: Twenty-six 
folios of calligraphic paper MS. in Central-Asian Brahmi of the Sad- 
dharma-pundarika, a Sanskrit text, one folio of which appears in Dr. 
Hoernle’s ‘‘ Manuscript Remains of Buddhist Literature’; eleven 
folios of an eighth-century Buddhist religious work in ancient Kho- 
tanese ; wooden tablets inscribed with accounts and other documents 
in Kharosthi; two beautiful plaster masks of female faces in classical 
Greek style; small intaglios from rings; two square metal seals, one 
with a classical winged bull intaglio, the other with Chinese lapidary 
characters similar to the impression of the Chinese official’s seal shown 
in ‘‘ Ruins of Desert Cathay,’”’ Vol. I, Plate 95 (6); several well- 
preserved fragments of coloured frescoes illustrating Buddhist legends, 
similar to those found by Stein at Miran; household implements 


such as wooden combs, fire-sticks, ‘f hearths,” etc., and copper coins 
of the Han and Tang dynasties, 


172 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


Turning to more modern times, it must be confessed that 
Chinese Turkistan is poor in arts and crafts compared with 
other Muhammadan countries such as Persia, Turkey or Kash- 
mir. The reason is not far to seek. In these latter countries 
the progressive decay of taste and craftsmanship which marked 
the nineteenth century has been delayed and in some cases 
arrested by the commercial enterprise of the West. Close 
contact with the markets of Europe and America has main- 
tained or renewed the standard, both in quality and in quantity, 
of the carpets of Persia and Turkey, the ornamental metal- 
work of Isfahan, the shawls of Kashmir and many other fine 
products of Oriental craftsmanship. The length and diffi- 
culty of the few trade-routes connecting the Tarim Basin 
with the rest of the world have prevented any such maintenance 
or renaissance of its arts and crafts, and little of artistic value 
is produced at the present day. As recently as the middle of 
last century, however, the old skill survived; and though 
during the twenty years which preceded the War, Jewish and 
Armenian dealers did not neglect the bazaars and pawnshops 


1A striking instance of this is the case of the Persian carpet in- 
dustry, which towards the end of last century was threatened with 
ruin as a result of the introduction of German aniline dyes. Modern 
Persian carpets began to acquire a bad name in the markets of Con- 
stantinople and New York for the crude and fugitive synthetic colours 
used. Had this process been allowed to continue, irreparable harm 
would have been done, for the secrets of the old vegetable dyes would 
have been lost. <A generation of weavers would have grown up which 
knew not where to look for the old herbs nor how to decoct them 
when found. But action was taken in time. Under pressure from 
the foreign interests involved, the Persian Government imposed a 
prohibitive export duty on aniline-dyed carpets; the great Armenian 
and Levantine firms which supply the markets of the West co-operated, 
and the situation was saved. Nowadays the colours of a Persian 
carpet are as fast as in the days of Shah Abbas, and it is only neces- 
sary when bargaining for one to murmur disparagingly ‘‘ rang-é- 
jauhavi”’ or “ masnu’s”’ (artificial dye) to cause the would-be seller 
to burst forth into a torrent of indignant protestations. No such 
measures, alas; have been taken by the Chinese, with the result 
that the carpet-weaving industry of Yurungkash, Lop and other 
villages in the Khotan district is hopelessly debased, Not only are 
the natural dyes used until thirty years ago forgotten, but the beautiful 
old flower-patterns are seldom used, being replaced by unspeakably 
hideous modern Chinese designs of mauve tigers and magenta tea- 
pots. Only one manufacturer, all honour to him, keeps to the designs 
and colour-schemes of Persia, and that is Mr. Moldovack, whom I 
have already mentioned. Even he cannot dispense with aniline, for 
most of the old vegetable dyes have disappeared. 


ART, LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 173 


of Kashgar, Yarkand, Khotan and even Kerlya, it is still 
possible to pick up beautiful old carpets and ornamental 
metal-work, embroideries and other objets d’art. 

In the course of some five years’ service between Quetta 
and Kerman I had collected a number of specimens and 
acquired a little experience of the carpet-weaving industry 
of South-East Persia and Afghanistan, and I was therefore 
specially interested in the corresponding industry which had 
flourished for centuries at Khotan, or rather at Yurungkash 
and Lop near that town. Ninety-five per cent. of the speci- 
mens brought us were in bad condition, with the pile in many 
places worn right away, and we acquired only three of the 
genuine old Khotan flower-pattern rugs, together with about 
half a dozen pieces of more recent though still pre-aniline 
weave, Of the former the best, which measures 8 feet by 
5 feet, is a fine specimen of the work of a hundred years or 
more ago. Its design is a most interesting mixture of Persia 
and China. The whole treatment—conventional flowers sym- 
metrically arranged on a monochrome ground and enclosed 
in a broad-banded border—is unmistakably Persian; while 
the besh gul or five-rose motif, consisting of a straight stalk 
with three roses on one side and two on the other, though not 
(so far as I know) found in Persian or Turkish carpets, still 
belongs to the same genre. But many of the other details 
are Chinese, such as the wave- and key-patterns in the border 
and the fleur-de-lis interspersed in symmetrical groups of four 
among the roses. 

The same blending of the Far with the Near East is found 
in the beautiful embroidery of Khotan, of which we picked up 
several good specimens. Here, too, scarcely anything that 
has been done within the last thirty or forty years is worth a 
second glance. The stitch chiefly used is the Turkish chain- 
stitch, which is not found in the embroidery of China Proper 
and is done with the i/mek or hooked needle of the Turki races. 
Some of the flowers, particularly the single sprigs, as well as 
the ‘ feel ’’ of the whole composition are Western. But the 
wave- and cloud-patterns, the butterflies and some of the 
flowers such as the purple iris, are definitely Chinese. 

Apart from the silk needlework of Khotan, there is the gold 
and silver embroidery on velvet for which Kucha in the north 
has been famous for generations. The industry is still alive, 
though the materials are imported, the thread from India 
and the velvet from Russian Transcaspia. Women’s indoor 


174 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


caps are the chief article of manufacture. Really old speci- 
mens are exceedingly rare, and we were very fortunate in 
lighting upon six circular medallions, about ten inches in 
diameter, of green velvet embroidered in gold and silver with 
a Persian floral design. These, I was told on good authority, 
once adorned the State robes of the indigenous Princes of 
Kucha. Here again, though the design as a whole is Persian, 
there is a touch of China in certain parallel wavy lines, while 
the use of circular medallions in embroidery on robes is itself 
a Chinese device. 

It was extraordinarily interesting to find, persisting in the 
south of the Tarim Basin right up to modern times, that same 
cultural mingling of Persia and China with the indigenous 
element which marked the sixth and seventh centuries of the 
Christian era, when the T’ang Emperors ruled the Middle 
Kingdom and the last of the Sassanids reigned in Zoroastrian 
Iran.4_ Innineteenth-century Khotan we have a rug of Turkish 
weave with a design in which the colours and patterns of China 
and Persia are closely intermixed. We find also an em- 
broidery with a peculiarly Turkish stitch done on Chinese silk 
or Bokharan velvet and showing designs in which Chinese 
and Persian art are represented in almost equal proportions. 
There could be no more striking illustration of that peculiar 
feature of the Tarim Basin’s history, the cultural mingling of 
East and West, to which I referred at the beginning of this 
chapter. 

But carpet-weaving and embroidery were not the only 
arts in which bygone Khotan excelled. Among the most 
attractive products of its craftsmanship were brass and copper 
household utensils decorated with elaborate floral designs in 
pierced metal work. This is another lost art, for though 
teapots and water-jugs of graceful shape are still made, their 
only decoration is a rough chasing of lines following the curves 
of the pot. The old pierced metal work, four specimens of 
which we were fortunate enough to secure, is strongly remin- 
iscent of the similar work in silver and copper still done at 
Isfahan.. Here I could detect no Chinese influence, probably 
because the chainak (tea-pot) and aftaba-lagan (jug and basin 

1Cf. the discoveries made by Sir Aurel Stein in the seventh- 
century cemetery at Astana, near Turfan, of fine figured silks both in 
Chinese and in pure Sassanian style (‘‘ Geographical Journal,’”’ June, 
1925, P. 492); also the Sassanian embroideries on damask found in 


the Cave of the Thousand Buddhas near Tunhwang (“ Ruins of 
Desert Cathay,’ Vol. II, p. 208). 


ART, LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 175 


for hand-washing) are ‘“‘ turban-head ”’ utensils in which the 
Chinese took no interest. 

The calligraphic art seems never to have flourished in Chinese 
Turkistan, and no Turki or Persian manuscripts of any merit 
appear to have been produced locally. Among the masses 
of “‘ junk ” brought to me at Kashgar, however, I was fortunate 
enough to come upon a genuine fifteenth-century Persian MS., 
in almost perfect condition. Noticing that the writing was 
exquisite and that a very early date appeared on the last 
page, I pointed out disparagingly that the book contained no 
pictures (this was not surprising) and few illuminated headings, 
and offered five taels for it. Eventually, after months of 
desultory bargaining, I acquired it for sixteen. It proved on 
examination by Dr. Edwardes of the British Museum and 
Dr. Nicholson of Cambridge to be a MS. of considerable 
importance, dated A.H. 150 or A.D. 1446, and containing four 
different Persian works, namely: 

(1) The Kulliyat of Farid-ud-din ’Attar (twelfth-thirteenth 

century). 

(2) The Fihi Mafihi of the famous mystic poet Jalal-ud-din 

Rumi. 

(3) A mystical work called Tavab ul Majalis. 

(4) In the margin, the Masnavi of Jalal-ud-din Rumi. 
The Kulliyat and the two Rumi works are early enough 
recensions to be of some importance textually, while the 
Tavab ul Majalis is almost unique, only one other copy of 
the work being known, that in the India Office Library. 

As might be expected from the isolated position of the Tarim 
Basin and the medizval conditions prevailing, the country 
is a happy hunting-ground for the folklorist. Quaint customs 
and superstitions, most of them dating far back beyond Islam 
and even Buddhism, survive in remarkable profusion, Legends, 
too, are numerous and widespread; but these are more 
difficult to disentangle from the mythological web with which 
Islam has interwoven the mass of Buddhistic and Manichezan 
tradition. The legends and medieval history of Chinese 
Turkistan have been treated very fully by M. Grenard in his 
work “‘La Haute Asie,” embodying the researches of the 
Dutreuil de Rhins Mission to Tibet and Chinese Turkistan 
(1890-95), and I found afterwards that some of the material 
I collected had already been recorded by that Mission. The 
subject is of such interest, however, and the work done on it 
so little known, that J make no apology for recording some of 


176 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


my observations, including particularly those which do not 
appear in Grenard or other authorities, together with such of 
Grenard’s data and conclusions as are necessary for their 
elucidation. 

In Vol. III of “‘ La Haute Asie”’ the author discusses the mass 
of tradition, pre-Muhammadan in origin but “ captured’”’ by 
Islam, of which the chief repositories are the tazkivas or sacred 
books of the various sanctuaries. At Imamlar, among the 
foot-hills of the Kunlun 45 miles south-west of Keriya, I bought 
from one of the mullas a modern copy of the ¢azkiva of the shrine. 
With the help of Murad Qari I translated this quite short work, 
a matter of considerable difficulty owing to the badness of 
the writing and the obscurity in some places of the Turki. 
The legend proved to be that of the ‘‘ Four Imams,” Nasir- 
ud-din, Zahur-ud-din, Mu’in-ud-din and Qawam-ud-din, the 
last of the twelve descendants of ‘Ali who according to local 
tradition came from Arabia at various times during the ninth 
and tenth centuries and were martyred in battle for the 
Faith, The narrative tells how the Four Imams sent one of 
their captains, Yusuf Qadir Khan Ghazi, with an army of 
40,000 men to Kashgar, which showed signs of reverting to 
paganism. Yusuf Qadir Khan reported by letter that the 
people of Kashgar refused to believe in the Prophet unless 
His descendants (i.e. the Imams) came in person. The Four 
Imams accordingly set out for Kashgar with an army of 
140,000 faithful.? 

The psalm which the Imams sang at Madain in Arabia 
before they marched is worth repeating : 


PSALM OF THE FouR IMAMS WHO SET OUT FROM BAGHDAD 
TO CONQUER THE LAND OF KASHGAR 


Ai igizlarni gelghucht pasti 

Bar-ni yoqg, yognt gelghuchit hasti ; 
Zikrgha jart qelsane 

Lashkarni qari qelsane ; 

Salma konglegha ghaiy yadini 

Ber bu ‘ajiz til-ldyvning muradini ; 
Konglegha ‘tlm o ’ishq tushqarghil 
Ber ‘amal vast, yoligha bashqarghil ; 


1The method by which they numbered the army is quaint, and is 
reminiscent of Herodotus’ description of the numbering of the Persian 
host by Xerxes. They took a grain of maize for every ten men, and 
then weighed the maize, which was found to amount to one charak 
(about 20 Ib.) ; the number of grains in one ching (1/16th of a charak) 
was then counted and the total arrived at. 


ART, LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 177 


Biubakam hurmatidin, at Bara 
Barja mushkil ishigha ber, Yara ; 
Hama mushkil-ldvent adsan att 
‘Ishq o fatz o futuh ahsan ait. 


(Translation) 


O Thou who makest high places low, 

Who makest Nothingness out of Existence and Existence out of 
Nothingness ; 

Make (our mouths) worthy to utter Thy name, 

Make our army worthy to read (Thy word). 

Put not in our hearts the thought of anything other (than Thee), 

Grant the desire of these our humble tongues. 

Implant knowledge and love (of Thee) in our hearts. 

Grant that we may act aright and guide us in our path; 

By the virtue of our Ancestor, O God, 

Deliver the infidels to adversity, O Beloved (God) ; 

Make all our difficulties easy ; 

Grant us Thy love and favour, grant us victory, 


In Bokhara and Ferghana the Imams were joined by further 
large armies of adherents under the command of local notables. 
When they arrived at Kashgar “ the troops filled the city so 
full that if anything had fallen from Heaven it would have 
fallen upon the shoulders of the army, for there would have 
been no room for it upon the earth.’’ The Kashgaris had 
therefore no choice but to embrace Islam. Leaving Yusuf 
Qadir Khan as governor of Kashgar, the Imams set out for 
Khotan. At Yarkand, which was then quite a small place, 
the inhabitants became converted at once; as a reward 
the Imams informed them that one day Yarkand would be 
the capital of the country. At Goma a body of people were 
seen on the road ahead; some came to the Imamsand were 
converted, others ran away. The Imams were suspicious 
of these latter, wherefore the place was afterwards Goma, from 
guman, “suspicion.”’ Pialma (two marches west of Khotan) 
received its name from the fact that the people brought 
presents of quinces and apples (bz4 and alma) to the Holy 
Ones.? 

Meanwhile the princes of Khotan, named Juqta Rashid 
and Nuqta Rashid, were preparing to resist. The first en- 
counter between the infidels and the Mussulman army was at 
Qumrabat Padshahim, where in a skirmish the Imam Shakir 


1 Similar explanations are given for the names of Moji and Zanguya 
on the Yarkand-Khotan road, but I could not elucidate them. Such 
stories are obviously ‘! etiological myths,” 

12 


178 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


was killed.1. The luck of the Imams had turned. The princes 
of Khotan had a very powerful sorcerer, who caused the whole 
city to become invisible to the Mussulmans just as their attack 
commenced. The Imams, unable to take a city they could 
not see, stayed where they were for forty years. At the end of 
this period, as the invaders would not go, Nuqta Rashid and 
Jugta Rashid, together with most of their army and the 
sorcerer, escaped secretly from Khotan and fled to the moun- 
tains, leaving anaged champion called Khalkhal? in command 
at Khotan. The city now once more became visible to the 
Imams, who had no difficulty in entering it and converting 
Khalkhal after a sharp battle. They then went after Nuqta 
and Jugta, who had built themselves a city of stone on the 
top of a mountain.? They turned the infidels out of this 
stronghold by cutting the copper conduit by which water was 
brought to it from the river. The final battle, which took 
place further to the east, raged without result for two days. 
On the night of the second day two men of a village called 
Ujat, magically disguised as dogs, stole into the Mussulmans’ 
camp and cut all the fastenings of their harness and other gear, 
so that next day the Imams and all their host were defeated 
and killed.4 Only forty believers survived to bring the news 
of the martyrdom of the Imams to Yusuf Qadir Khan, who 
proceeded to the spot to bury them and establish the shrine 
which bears their name. Asa punishment for their part in the 
martyrdom of the Imams,a curse fell upon the people of Ujat; 
it was decreed that their sons should always be born with four 
legsandatail. The only way in which they could rid themselves 
of this curse was by giving their daughters to the Sheikhs of 
the Imamlar shrine in marriage and thus purifying the stock.® 


1Two pigeons flew from his body after the battle, thus enabling 
it to be identified ; these pigeons are the ancestors of the thousands 
of sacred pigeons at the shrine of Imam Shakir at Qumrabat Padshahim., 
This story does not appear in the Imamlar tazkira. 

2 From a comparison with other tazkivas, Grenard thinks that Khal- 
khal was the king of Khotan and Juqta and Nugta his ministers— 
possibly leading Lamas. 

*Local tradition places this stronghold at Hasha, two marches 
south-east of Khotan at the foot of the Tikkelik Tagh. Here there 
are remains of a Buddhist monastery (Grenard). See also Stein, 
‘‘Serindia,’”’ pp. 1320-1. 

* The date of the martyrdom of the Imams fs given as roth Muhar- 
Tam, A.H. 39I (A.D. 1000). 

’Grenard gives a résumé of this fazkiva (Vol. III, pp. 38-41), but 
does not mention some of the interesting points such as the method 


ART, LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 179 


The author of ‘“‘La Haute’ Asie,’’ who collected all the 
tazkivas of the various shrines (a fact of which I was unaware 
when I acquired and translated a copy of the Imamlar one), 
shows that in their present form they all date from about the 
beginning of the eighteenth century. They are Sunni editions 
of the original Shi’a legends of the eleventh to the fourteenth 
centuries. Even the Shi’a legends, however, were not original. 
They were adaptations by the early mullas of pre-Muham- 
madan traditions connected with ancestor-worship at local 
shrines. None of the Twelve Imams came to Kashgar at all ; 
the heroes of the legends were almost certainly eighth to tenth 
century Shi’a adventurers escaping from the persecution of 
the Ommiad Caliphs and other Sunni authorities. With small 
bands of followers, these bold Saracens raided Chinese territory 
in much the same way as their Western brethren raided Europe, 
and their exploits became legendary, like the eighth-century 
Saracen raid into the south of France which ended in the Battle 
of Poitiers. These ‘‘Imams” accomplished little, and they 
were all either killed or taken prisoner by the natives, None 
of their raids, Grenard thinks, preceded the authentic attempt 
of Qutaibah to impose Islam upon Kashgaria in the tenth 
century ; it was Qutaibah who led the way, and yet he is not 
mentioned at all in the tazkivas and is entirely forgotten. 
This is because he was a Sunni. 

The complete conversion of the Tarim Basin to Islam was 
a slow process. In the tenth century the official religion of 
the country was Buddhism, with its chief stronghold at Khotan, 
but it was a debased Buddhism, and a pagan Manicheism was 
the real religion of the people. Paganism died hard in the Basin ; 
indeed, as we shall see later, it is not by any means dead yet. 
The destruction of the old Buddhist theocracy at Khotan and 
the conversion of the whole country to Islam were begun by 
Qutaibah and the so-called Imams, and continued by Sadiq 
Boghra Khan, the Uigur Prince who first embraced Islam. 
Then came the Qara Khitai and the Mongols, and the Faith 
received a set-back. It was not till the fourteenth century 
that Islam could be definitely called the religion of the country. 
In the meantime the Muhammadan element had been evolving 
its tradition and consolidating its position vis-a-vis the pagans. 


of numbering the army of the Faithful; the Psalm; the derivations 
of Pialma, Goma, etc., and the punishment meted out to the 
men of Ujat (see next paragraph). Prof, Huntington, who visited 
Imaml&r in 1905, mentions this same taghiva (‘‘ Pulse of Asia,’’ p, 164). 


180 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


Its method was simply to appropriate the pagan heroes with 
their local cults and identify them with its own pioneers. 
The cult of the Imams and other Mussulman saints, as Grenard 
points out,! goes back to religions older than Islam. The Mussul- 
man priests, powerless to destroy the popular worship at certain 
shrines, adopted those shrines and christened them with the 
names of Islamic personages. 

I came across several such survivals of pre-Muhammadan 
traditions during our travels, though I did not always recognize 
their true significance. At Chira, half-way between Khotan 
and Keriya, is the shrine of one of the foremost ‘‘ Imams,”’ 
Jafar Tairan. The local legend is that this Imam came 
flying through the air from Mecca to convert the Kingdom of 
Khotan. Now Hsuan Tsang in the seventh century tells of 
a sacred image at Keriya, 20 feet high and luminous, which 
at the death of the Buddha flew by itself from Kochambi in 
India, where it was made, to a place in the north of the King- 
dom of Khotan.? A still more striking instance is that of the 
story in the Imamlar tazkiva about the men of Ujat who 
entered the camp of the Imams by night disguised as dogs 
and rendered the arms and armour of the Mussulmans useless, 
thus helping the King of Khotan to defeat them. This is 
evidently an adaptation of the legend of the sacred rats re- 
corded by Hsuan Tsang and quoted by Sir Aurel Stein. 
Khotan was being invaded by a great force of Hiong-nu or 
Huns, and its king was in despair. One night he was visited 
in a dream by the King of the Rats, who offered him his help. 
The King of Khotan accepted the offer, and next night a great 
army of rats ‘‘as big as hedgehogs, their hair the colour of 
gold and silver,’ invaded the camp of the Huns and ate all 
their bow-strings and the leather fastenings of their harness. 
This altogether incapacitated the Huns, who were easily 
defeated next day. Thenceforward the rats which lived near 
the scene of the battle were regarded as sacred and fed regularly 
by pilgrims. The curious thing is that, according to Stein, 
the scene of this battle is the same as that of the defeat and 
death of Imam Shakir where now stands the ‘‘ Pigeon Shrine ’”’ 
of Qumrabat Padshahim ; and Stein thinks that the pigeons 
are the lineal descendants, as it were, of the golden-haired 
rats. It will be remembered that the Ujat men assumed 


2Vol. II, p. 240, § Ibid, 
*‘ Sand-buried Ruins of Khotan,” p, 195. 


ART, LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 181 


animal shape when they entered the Mussulman camp, and the 
curse which fell upon their village was that all male children 
in it should be born with four feet and a tail—an ingenious 
adaptation of the pagan tradition. 

Another priestly legend of lineage older than Islam is that 
which was told me by the Chief Qazi of Opal, a charming 
village situated some 28 miles west of Kashgar on a plateau 
of loess between two winding valleys. These valleys, called 
the Qizil (red) and Qara (black) Jilghas, have been cut in the 
loess by two streams which flow one on each side of a low hill 
clothed with ancient planes and crowned by the picturesque 
shrine of Hazrat Maulam. They join about five miles below 
Opal, where there is the mausoleum of the Hazrat with another 
shrine over it. Near the foot of the hill is a cave, and the 
story is that this was once the lair of a dragon which preyed 
upon the countryside after the manner of its kind. This 
went on until the Four Imams came to free the country from 
the dragons of idolatry and of superstition. They commis- 
sioned one of their captains, Hazrat Maulam, to slay the 
beast, and gave him a magic belt which enabled him to do the 
deed. Unfortunately the dragon’s poison was too strong for 
the Hazrat, and he died in the hour of victory. The question 
then was, where should he be buried? The people of the 
two valleys, the Red and the Black, fought for the honour of 
providing his burial-place. Finally it was decided to cut the 
Hazrat in half and inter his head and shoulders in one valley 
and his legs in the other. But when the Holy Imams heard 
of this they were angry, and ordered that the saint should be 
buried at the place where the two valleys meet. 

At Lamus on the Duwa stream, twelve miles south of Pialma, 
I was interested to hear from a delightful old Haji a legend 
about the Four Imams which does not appear in the Imamlar 
tazkira. On the day before the battle at Qumrabat Pad- 
shahim in which, as already described, the Imam Shakir was 
killed, the Four Imams encamped at a place called Takhtuban 
in the desert, 20 miles north-east of Lamus. There was no 
water, and the Imams thirsted ; so their followers, 40,000 of 
them, formed a line, standing side by side all the way to 
Lamus, whence they passed water in buckets from hand to 
hand until the thirst of the Holy Ones was quenched. Thence- 
forward the place was called Olam-su, afterwards corrupted 
to Lamus, because the water (sw) was “‘ grafted’’ (olamak) 
from its spring to Takhtuban. 


182 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


I was puzzled in the Khotan region by the multitudes of 
poles with yaks’ or horses’ tails tied to the ends which were 
to be seen at every shrine stuck upright in the burial mound 
of the saint. Grenard explains that these ¢ughs, as they are 
called, are no other than relics of human sacrifice. According 
to the Chinese chroniclers, the ancient Turks sacrificed human 
victims on the graves of the great and stuck their heads up 
on poles as a record of the fact. The Turks of the Altai, at 
the present day, according to Radloff, sacrifice horses in the 
same manner at the funeral of a chief, hanging up the skins 
over the grave with the head facing east. Among the Kazaks, 
the horse is not actually sacrificed, but its tail is cut off and it 
is regarded as dead; no further use is made of the animal. 
The practice of hanging horses’ tails on poles at the Khotan 
shrines is obviously a further stage in the same process, all 
tradition of the original sacrifice having been lost. 

Like the Italian peasant, the Turki is a great believer in 
the efficacy of local saints, and there are innumerable shrines 
all over the country dedicated not only to the “ Imams”’ but 
to later saints and heroes. These sanctuaries almost always 
have some superstitious observance attached to them, con- 
nected either with the curing of diseases or with the bearing 
of children. At shrines where the belief is of the latter type 
the majority of the pilgrims are, of course, women, and the 
mullas have therefore been obliged in each case, for the sake 
of propriety, to invent a female saint, complete with legend, 
in order to bring the cult into line with Islam. That most of 
these cults are nothing more or less than ancestor-worship of 
great antiquity is shown by the popular names of the shrines ; 
the common people seldom refer to them by the name of any 
particular Mussulman saint, but pray to “‘ Sultan Buwam”’ 
(Our Royal Ancestor or Ancestress), “Bu Anam” (Our 
Ancestress Mother), “‘ Hazrat Pir’? (The Holy Sage), and 
even “ Qara-Sakal Atam’’ (My Father Blackbeard). The 
title ‘‘ Padshah’’ or king is very often used tout court. 


+Miss Sykes and Sir P. Sykes give accounts.of several interesting 
shrines and the superstitions attaching thereto, See ‘‘ Through Deserts 
and Oases of Central Asia,” pp. 68-72, 92-5, 205-7, 314, 320. The 
custom mentioned by Sir Percy on p, 314, of a woman desirous of a 
child putting her hand into one of the holes in the wall of the tomb, 
appertains to the shrine of Bu Anam on the left bank of the Tumen 
4 miles above Kashgar, The rule, we were told, is that whatever 
her hand touches in the hole—lump of dirt, beetle, or whatever it may 
be—she must eat forthwith. 


ART, LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 183 


The fact is that not only ancestor-worship but paganism is 
still strong in this land flowing with milk and honey, despite 
a thousand years of Islam, just as it survives all the thunder- 
ings of the priests in the backwoods of Persia. At Kerman 
the ‘“‘ Nauruz’”’ or Zoroastrian New Year is still the most 
popular annual festival, and you may see the revellers pic- 
nicking in their thousands on a March afternoon under the 
“Ya ’Ali”’ cliff-shrine or on the sun-warmed rocks of the 
Kala-i-Ardashir. But the Sunni of the Tarim Basin is even 
more easy-going and joy-loving than the Shi’a of East Persia. 
He displays little fanaticism and none of the passionate self- 
immolation which marks a Persian Muharram, when the 
naked backs of the flagellants resound and frenzied swords- 
men redden the streets with blood from their own scalps. He, 
too, celebrates the Zoroastrian Nauraz, at any rate at Yarkand, 
where the Jahan Bagh Fair in March is undoubtedly a survival 
of New Year celebrations. We were unfortunate to miss this 
fair both years we were in Chinese Turkistan, but I heard a 
certain amount about it. It is held on the big common to 
the north-east of the Old City, and goes on for three or four 
weeks. There are no religious observances and the people 
give themselves up to feasting and jollity; as might be 
expected, there is a good deal of immorality. For this reason 
the priests strongly disapprove of it, and do all they can to 
induce the Chinese authorities to forbid the holding of the 
fair. Against them are arrayed all the bakers, sweetmeat- 
sellers, acrobats, pimps, story-tellers and others who stand 
to reap a rich harvest; these organize monster petitions to 
the Amban in favour of the fair being held, and even, it is 
said, subscribe many hundred taels among themselves for the 
oiling of the necessary palms at the Yamen. The pashraps 
or police support the Jahan Bagh festival, for they, too, make 
heavy profits out of it, chiefly by blackmailing unmarried 
women. Many of the religious festivals, for that matter, are 
more pagan than Mussulman, especially those which are 
seasonal and therefore unconnected with the Muhammadan 
(lunar) calendar; they are merely popular gatherings for the 
purpose of feasting and enjoyment, and probably date back 
thousands of years. At the end of August, for example, 
greedy pilgrims from all over the province congregate at the 
fane of ‘‘ Hazrat Sultanim,’’ Sadiq Boghra Khan, to feast on 
the luscious figs of Astin Artush. The same applies to summer 
Saturdays at the beautiful shrine of Hidayatulla Khoja, known 


184 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


as ‘‘ Hazrat Apak,’’ most famous of the priest-kings, or 
‘“‘Khojas’”’ from Samarqand, who misruled Kashgar from the 
beginning of the seventeenth century onwards. Hazrat 
Apak is really a kind of country club for Kashgar; the 
tawwuf or “‘ circling ’’ of the shrines is supposed to be per- 
formed by every visitor, but the famous apricots and melons 
of Besh Karim are the attraction rather than the exhortations 
of the mullas. Even the Ashura (10th Muharram) festival 
at Ordam Padshah, in the desert east of Yangi Hissar, where 
is the shrine of Ali Arslan, is little more than a fair like Jahan 
Bagh with the immorality kept in bounds under the watchful 
eyes of the Church.+ 

It must be confessed, then, that the secular struggle waged 
by Islam against superstition, paganism and the cult of joy 
in the land of the Six Cities is an up-hill one. Perhaps the 
mullas are less zealous than the mujtahidin of Kerbela, less 
eloquent than the mutakallimin of Shiraz; for a nation has 
the priests it deserves. However this may be, their best 
friends could not call the Kashgaris good Mussulmans. Few 
perform more than one or two of the five daily prayers, and 
the Ramazan fast is often broken in private. Observance of 
the Qur’anic precepts is apt to vary directly with the number 
of persons present, a fact noted with dry humour by the 
Chinese in their saying ‘One Moslem, no Moslem; two 
Moslems, half a Moslem; three Moslems, one Moslem.” 

Of all their religious duties, the Ramazan fast bears most 
hardly upon the gluttonous Turki, and all the powers of Hell 
are invoked by their pastors to frighten them out of eating 
and drinking during the daylight hours. The following 
epigram was repeated to me @ propos of the Dulanis of the 
Yarkand River valley, but its application is much wider: 


Roza tuidum jan uchun ; I fast in Ramazan to save my 

Kecha gopdum gal uchun ; I ae at night to keep my belly 

Tuima’e desim qurqaman, I ae to say “I am not going 

Gorda tukhmdq bar uchun, F xm ene a rod that waits in 
Hell for me. 


1 Ali Arslan, the ‘‘ Lion of Kashgar,” was an Uigur prince, nephew 
of Sadiq Boghra Khan, who went down fighting the armies of Khotan. 
Why, in a Sunni country and in commemoration of a Sunni saint, 
the exclusively Shi’a festival of the Ashura should be celebrated, 
nobody was able to tell me. 





DULANI CHILDREN, MARALBASHI DISTRICT 
A GAME OF CAT’S CRADLE 


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ART, LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 185 


During Ramazan it is incumbent on the good Mussulman 
to give to the poor the food he denies himself, and children 
go round singing quaint begging songs, which must be very 


old. 
is another : 


Miss Sykes gives a translation of one she heard ; 1 here 


SONG OF THE CHILD-BEGGARS AT RAMAZAN 


Ramazan allah bu shahrim Ram- 
azan! 

Ramazan aitip keldok Danduklar- 
din. 

Bizgha birnima qoilar miki qgowmagq- 
lardin * 

Aq tukhe, appagitukhe qamghaqda 
dur. 

Bizgha qoighan kakcha* nan san- 
duqda dur. 

Oining arkast taming 121, taining 
t2t ; 

Bizgha mu nan bivedur, Baining 
qizt ? 4 

Ramazan-ning untoviida buz ala 


got 
Kala pachakini Mullagha qo’e !* 


God’s Ramazan be to this town, 
God’s Ramazan |! 

From Danduklar I. have come 
crying Ramazan. 

Surely a bit of sacrificial bread 
has been put out for me? 

There’s a white fowl, a nice white 
fowl on your perch. 

There’s a round of bread stored 
in your cupboard for me. 

Behind your house there are the 
hoof-marks of a foal, of a foal; 

Won’t you give me a little bread, 
O daughter of a rich man? 

Let me have the brown piebald 
sheep on 14th Ramazan ; 

Its head and feet you may keep 
for the Mulla. 


It is not only at the nocturnal ‘‘ Mi-Caréme”’ of r4th 
Ramazan that a sheep is sacrificed. I well remember how 
under the old régime the streets of Constantinople used to 
swarm at ‘‘ Ourban Bairam”’ with hamdls staggering under 
great fat sheep destined for the sacrifice; and this festival is 
similarly celebrated at Turki Kashgar, though the slaughter 
is much less than in rich Stamboul. Sheep are only sacrificed 
at the houses of the well-to-do; those who cannot afford one 
of their own go round in batches to the houses of their 
wealthier friends for the “‘salaam’’ ceremony. Standing 


1‘* Through Deserts and Oases,” p. 174. 

*Qoimaq is a kind of bread baked in oil, only used for sacrificial 
offerings. 

* Kakcha is a sort of large round biscuit-bread always put before 
guests. It is seldom eaten and the same kakchas turn up at party 
after party. Some glutinous substance is mixed with the flour of 
the Kakcha to make it durable. 

“The possession of a yearling or two-year-old horse (faz) is a sign 
of wealth in Turkistan. 

Sie. “ Don’t try to palm off the customary mosque offerings on 
me—I want something better.” 


186 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


before the owner of the house they bow with a sweeping 
movement of the arms and a stroking of the beard intoning 
a sonorous ‘‘ Amin’ the while, after which each person is 
entitled to a sup of sacrificial mutton. On the first of the 
two days of Qurban only men perform the salaam ; the second 
is the women’s day, when separate tables are spread in the 
andarin for the fair visitors. The skin of each sheep sac- 
rificed goes to the Imam, the head and feet to the Mu’azzin, 
the neck and offal to the butcher and a portion of the meat 
to the beggars. ? ; 
Turning to superstitions, the field for research is so wide 
that it was scarcely possible for me to do more than recon- 
noitre it in the time at my disposal. Witchcraft in particular 
flourishes exceedingly. I had it on good authority that at 
Yarkand in 1924 there were between 25 and 30 witch-doctors, 
who made large profits, chiefly out of the women. These 
gentry are called bakhshis at Yarkand, du’a-khwans or jadugars 
at Kashgar. Ata meeting of the ‘‘ real’ doctors of Yarkand 
in 1923—the local General Medical Council, as it were— 
it was estimated that the bakhshis made between them 175,000 
local taels or about £2,300 in the year, as against a beggarly 
£400 made by the poor doctors. The latter have only them- 
selves to thank for this state of affairs, for they are hopelessly 
inefficient and their methods date back to the days of Hippo- 
cratesand Galen.! Skilfuladvertisement, however, contributes 
to the magicians popularity ; in every tea-house, every meeting- 
place of the people there are agents paid by them to tell 
stories of wonderful cures effected by such and such a bakhsht. 
Thé fees paid to the witch-doctors vary from one fenga (2d.) 
to 20 taels (£2 13s. 4d.) or more. In return for these they 
compose spells and perform incantations to drive away the 
demons which possess the patient. I heard them doing it 
once, and I shall never forget it. One night, as I was sleeping 
in my verandah as usual,I was awakened at 3 a.m. by loud 
music and drum-beating from a neighbouring house. The 
playing was loud and rhythmic and the melody haunting ; 
but there was something sinister about the music, as if it had 
no soul. One phrase would be repeated again and again, 
then another would be substituted for it. I was puzzled by 
the performance; it sounded like some strange Bacchanal, 
1 For a description of the methods of Kashgar doctors, see Grenard, 


“La Haute Asie,” Vol. II, pp. 110-12; Sykes, ‘‘ Through Deserts 
and Oases of Central Asia,’ pp. 317-20. 


ART, LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 187 


but what house would be making merry in the small hours that 
had been silent at midnight? After a time, sleep being im- 
possible, I went round to the quarter-guard and sent the orderly 
on duty to try and stop it. While he was yet on his way the 
music ceased suddenly of its own accord, in the middle of a 
phrase, and all was silence. At breakfast the orderly came 
and reported that the du’a-khwans had been making magic 
music to drive away the evil spirits from our neighbour, an 
old Haji, who was very sick. He had died that morning, I 
was told, at a quarter to four.} 

Witch-doctoring is by no means the only form of magic 
practised. There is jarvrakasht or the casting of the evil 
eye; there are the spells which induce love, and those which 
sow enmity between people—these are bought by third parties, 
who expect to profit thereby; there are the chumkashchis 
or private detectives with magical powers. The belief in 
the evil eye is very strong, especially among the fair sex. 
If a woman feels liverish, she at once concludes that she has 
been bewitched, and goes to the du’a-khwan. Even D.’s 
excellent maid, Aisha Khan, who had been much with Europeans 
and was distinctly intelligent, was by no means free from this 
weakness. Once when she had been feeling seedy for some 
days she came to D. and informed her rather sheepishly— 
ashamed to admit belief, but evidently believing—that her 
friends all said it was her husband’s other wife who was casting 
the evil eye upon her. The trouble, she explained, was that 
the other lady’s brother was a professional du’a-khwan, which 


1Grenard, “La Haute Asie,’’ pp. 254-7, describes the procedure 
on such occasions. The patient is taken out of bed and seated on 
the ground with his back up against a rope stretched tightly from the 
middle of the ceiling to the floor. While his assistants play on their 
tambourines and sing continuously, the sorcerer dances round the 
patient and brushes the latter’s face with the body of a cock. Some- 
times he takes out the cock’s lungs and whips the sufferer on the 
back with them, or with a willow wand, crying the while “ Qach! 
Qach!” (Avaunt!) Invocations begin with the Prophet, but go on 
with Chingiz Khan and other ancient heroes, A fire is lighted, and 
a tambourine is placed in the smoke and then brought close to the 
patient’s ear. All this, says Grenard, appertains to ancestor-worship 
and Shamanism. The wand, the tambourine, the lungs of sacrificed 
animals, are all part of the stock-in-trade of the ‘‘shamans”’ or 
sorcerers of pagan tribes in Siberia. Most curious of all, the rope 
tied from ceiling to floor represents the tree-trunk, marked with the 
signs of the Zodiac and other mystical characters, which 1s placed 
upright in the middle of the tent after the completion of a “ purifi- 
cation.”’ 


188 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


gave her an unfair advantage. There are several death-spells 
in use. If a woman wishes her husband to die, she washes 
her head on seven successive Wednesday mornings; another 
method is to wear two caps, one on top of the other, for seven 
weeks. Similarly, a man puts a death-spell on his wife by 
combing his beard with two combs. In most countries where 
witchcraft and the evil eye are believed in, portions of the 
body such as hairs, nail-parings, etc., are peculiarly valuable 
to the enemy who wishes to cast a spell upon their late owner; 
in Chinese Turkistan, by a curious extension of the idea. this 
property attaches also to a person’s shoes, or rather to the 
kafsh-massi or slippers which are worn out of doors over the 
long boots and taken off on entering a house. If you find your 
enemy’s shoes lying neatly together outside the room in which 
he sits, you turn them upside down or place them one on top 
of the other; if you want to kill him, you take them up and 
throw them down haphazard. At Yarkand the shoe super- 
stitions differ somewhat from those current at Kashgar; the 
effects of meddling with one’s kafsh-masst seem to be less 
serious. I was told there that when a caller outstays his 
welcome, he is apt to find on his departure that his shoes are 
lying upside down ; this is a gentle hint not to stay so long 
next time. Omens also attach to shoes at Yarkand; if one 
is found lying on top of the other—whether by accident or 
otherwise—it means that the owner, if a man, is going to get 
a new wife, if a woman, a new husband. 

A curious idea widely prevalent is that the death of a 
person affects the health of his or her surviving relatives. A 
boy was once brought to D. with the statement that he ‘“‘ had 
been ailing ever since his father died two years ago.’’ This 
might have been a ruse to obtain alms, for orphanhood is a 
valuable asset in Muhammadan countries and is apt to be 
exploited by the orphan’s relations; but we found instances 
of widows in a similar manner suffering in health from the 
death of their husbands. 

Ghosts are firmly believed in and much feared, the worst 
kind being those of dead Chinese. Referring to the city 
of Qarashahr, a month’s journey from Kashgar along the 
Urumchi road, a woman who had been there said it was “‘ an 
awiul place for Chinese ghosts.’’ The only thing to do if 
you are haunted by them is to propitiate them by leaving 
money on your doorstep overnight. In the morning if the 
money is gone, you know that the Chinese ghosts have taken it. 


ART, LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 189 


The snakes found in the Kashgar oasis are not poisonous, 
but the people have acertain superstitious dread of them for 
which it is difficult to account. It is said that if you kill a 
snake, its mate will follow you about everywhere—haunt you, 
in fact, like an Indian “sending.’’ As in most Oriental 
countries, rumours of human sacrifice obtain currency when- 
ever any great building work is commenced. When Major 
Dockray erected the masts of his wireless station, five miles 
north of Kashgar, the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages 
spread it abroad that he had kidnapped forty Turki children 
and had buried them underneath the masts. He supposed 
that it was the ‘“‘ Hidden Hand ”’ trying to wreck the scheme, 
but it was not; it was a very ancient and deeply-rooted 
superstition. At Kashgar it is believed that the great mud 
wall of the city contains the bodies of the slaves who died under 
the overseers’ whips while engaged in building it; as they 
fell, it is said, their bodies were built into the wall. This is 
obviously a variant of the human sacrifice legend, and prob- 
ably represents a race-memory of horrors that used to take 
place in forgotten ages. 

Since the earliest times the Takla Makan Desert has been 
the subject of much superstition and legendary lore. The 
people who live on its verge all believe that great and wealthy 
cities lie buried beneath its sands, and that it is haunted 
by demons and the ghosts of the cities’ former inhabitants. 
These are much feared by the ‘‘ Taklamakanchis ”’ or treasure- 
seekers who year after year risk and sometimes lose their 
lives in desert expeditions in search of buried treasure. A 
remarkable example of the antiquity of the Takla Makan 
legendsis given bySir A. Stein in Sand-buried Ruins of Khotan.’’? 
While on his way to the Uzun-Tati site north of Domoko on 
the Khotan-Keriya road, he heard from some villagers a 
legend of the Sodom and Gomorrah type about the city which 
had once existed at Uzun Tati. Its inhabitants, they said, 
mocked at a holy man who had rebuked them for their sins, 
whereupon as a punishment God had rained sand upon the 


1 When the Grandpass Victoria Bridge was commenced at Colombo, 
it was firmly believed that two children had been sacrificed to the 
god of the Kelani River. As recently as the summer of 1924 serious 
riots, in which six Sikh taxi-drivers were killed, took place at Calcutta 
as the result of a rumour that certain Sikh workmen engaged in the 
oosar go of a dock were kidnapping and sacrificing Muhammadan 
children. 


* Pp. 430, 438-0. 


190 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


place for seven days and nights until all was buried. Now 
the great Buddhist pilgrim Hsuan-tsang who passed this way 
in the seventh century of our era stayed at a town called 
Pi-mo, which Stein has conclusively identified with the Uzun- 
Tati site; and at this place Hsuan-tsang heard an almost 
exactly parallel Sodom and Gomorrah legend about another 
buried city called Ho-lo-lo-kia, still further out in the Takla 
Makan! A similar story is attached to the shrine of Imam 
Jamal-ud-Din at Keriya; this saint is supposed to have 
caused the sudden overwhelming of the city of Ketek because of 
insults he had received from its inhabitants. While at Goma 
in 1922 I had occasion to interrogate some Taklamakanchis 
from Qaratagh Aghzi, the ‘‘ terminal oasis’’ of the Kilian 
River, about a new desert site which they said they had found 
a couple of years previously. At first they were uncommuni- 
cative, but afterwards when their tongues were loosened they 
told me about their discoveries, and many other things as 
well. One of them described an experience he had had in 
the neighbourhood. ‘I was lost one evening in the Takla 
Makan,” he said, ‘“‘and had no water. Suddenly I saw before 
me great walls in the sand and a gateway in the midst of 
them. I passed through the gateway and found myself in the 
outer court of a huge yamen.1 I went through more doors 
and courtyards and at last I entered a great hall (ativan) 
which was full of treasure, gold and coral and pearls. But 
there was a huge tiger on guard there; flames issued from his 
mouth and I knew he was an evil spirit. I fainted from fear, 
and when I came to my senses I was among the sands and there 
was no yamen. Next day I came upon the tracks of wood- 
cutters and found my way home.” 

Sir A. Stein’s researches have proved that none of the 
buried cities of the Takla Makan which have so far been found 
were overwhelmed by any sudden catastrophe. All were 
abandoned bit by bit, owing either to a generally-diminishing 
water-supply, or to the shifting of particular rivers, or to 
political causes. The Sodom and Gomorrah legends are 
probably, therefore, quite baseless. But this does not neces- 
sarily imply that the ancient tradition about the ‘ Forty 
Cities of the Takla Makan’’—great and populous centres, now 
buried under the sands far out beyond the furthest explorations 
of the archeologists—has no foundation in fact. The dawn 
of history in the Tarim Basin is relatively late, the second 


1 Any palace or large Chinese house 1s called a ‘ yamen.” 


ART, LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 191 


century before Christ; thousands of years before that dawn 
the Egyptian, Minoan, Sumerian and other great civilizations 
existed. Is it impossible that the Tarim Basin, in the heart 
of that Innermost Asia which is believed by many to be the 
cradle of the human race, may once have harboured a race 
as powerful and a culture as advanced as any that flourished 
on the banks of the Nile, the Euphrates or the Indus? 

All depends on the answer to the question: Was the 
water-supply ever much greater than it is now? In this 
connection the conclusions of Sir A. Stein in his latest publi- 
cation? are of the utmost interest. Discussing whether the 
abandonment of Niya, Dandan Oilik and other sites may be 
assigned to a supposed climatic desiccation of Central Asia, 
or to some other cause or causes, he points out that definite 
archeological evidence forces us to two conclusions. 


“One is that climatic conditions quite as arid as the present ones 
prevailed within the big trough of the Tarim Basin as far back as 
ancient remains and available records can take us, The other con- 
clusion is that the amount of water carried by its rivers has greatly 
diminished during the same historical period.” 


How can these apparently contradictory propositions be 
reconciled ? As a possible solution of this problem Sir Aurel 
propounds a remarkable theory which was verbally suggested 
to him in 1908 by Colonel Sir Sidney Burrard, late Surveyor- 
General of India, and recently also proposed by Dr. von 
Ficker with regard to similar conditions in the Oxus basin. 


“This theory”? (he says) “seeks the reason for the diminished 
volume of the rivers in the shrinkage of the glaciers on the high ranges 
which are their main feeders. It accounts for the shrinkage itself 
by assuming that those glaciers comprise great reserves of ice which 
have been left behind by the last glacial period and have since been 
undergoing slow but continuous reduction through milder climatic 
conditions. This continued process would suffice to explain shrinkage 
in the irrigation resources during historical time without the climate 
of the basin as a whole having in the course of this period, very short 
in a geological sense as it seems, undergone any appreciable change.”’ 


In other words, the glaciers of the Kunlun may be no other 
than the dwindling remnants of the frozen cap that Asia wore 
in the last Ice Age. A link with the past indeed ! 

Sixteen centuries ago even a small stream like the Niya 
River flowed far out into the desert, watering a flourishing 
town 20 miles beyond its present disappearing-point at the 


1 Geographical Journal,’ June, 1925, pp. 487-90. 


192 CHINESE. CENTRAL ASIA 


shrine of Imam Ja’far Sadiq. Four or five thousand years 
ago, presumably, this river and others like it flowed in greater 
volume still, penetrating far beyond ancient Chingchueh and 
Dandan Oilik. Those were the days, perhaps, when the great 
Lop Sea to the east had not altogether dried up, and the 
“innumerable laughter’ of its waves hid what are now the 
sharp-edged salt clods of the world’s worst desert. It may be, 
then, that in the days when Sargon reigned in Babylon and 
Manes on the Nile, wide fertile lands and populous cities with 
a culture and an art of their own basked in the Central Asian 
sun, and that the glory and the wealth of a forgotten civiliz- 
ation lie hid for ever under the gigantic dunes of the Takla 
Makan. 


1‘ Sand-buried Ruins of Khotan,” p. 351. 





THE CHOLL KUL, MARALBASHI DISTRICT, WITH SAND-HILLS OF TAKLA MAKAN 


AD DESERT LAKE 





CHAPTER XIII 


CUSTOMS, MUSIC, POETRY AND 
FOLKLORE 


‘“‘ Tl est peu de pays ot la famille soit plus faiblement constituée que 
dans le Turkestan oriental et il y a bien longtemps que le mariage s’y 
conclut et s’y dissout avec une égale facilité. Il n’est peut-étre pas 
une région en Asie ot les moeurs soient plus relachées et ot, en méme 
temps, les femmes aient plus d’indépendence et d’influence, ot lon 
rencontre a la fois moins de dignité et plus de douceur dans la vie 
privée.” 

GRENARD, 


HE conditions of family life in the Tarim Basin and 
the manners and customs connected with the home 
are no less peculiar to thisremote and isolated land 

than are its legends and superstitions. Thanks to the extra- 
territorial jurisdiction exercised by the British Consul-General, 
I had a considerable number of civil as well as criminal cases 
to settle according to the law and custom of the country, 
which were applicable not only when Chinese subjects were 
parties, but also in civil suits of all kinds brought by or against 
British Indian nationals permanently domiciled in Chinese 
Turkistan. In the course of many attempts to do some sort 
of justice in long and complicated cases concerning succession 
and bequest, marriage and divorce, chancery, settlement of 
accounts, and so on, I picked up a certain amount of infor- 
mation about the conditions and customs of family life, 
especially at Yarkand, whence most of the work came. I 
am also indebted to my friend, Murad Qari of Yarkand, 
whom I have already mentioned more than once, for much 
useful and interesting information relative to his native 
town. 

Owing to ignorance and bad hygiene, infant mortality is 
undoubtedly very high, though it probably does not approach 
the appalling figures for Calcutta and some other parts of 

13 193 


194 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


India. Infants are fed by their mothers for a couple of months, 
after which all kinds of food, however indigestible, are admin- 
istered, in order to “‘ strengthen the stomach ”’ and make the 
child ‘‘as tough as a mill-stone”’ (tigarman-mizaj). In this 
the Turkis merely copy their masters, for, according to D., 
a Chinese mother will stuff her baby at a party with anything 
she eats herself, and I myself have seen an official administer 
neat brandy to his three-months-old infant. Among the 
middle and lower classes daughters are more desired than 
sons, because there is always the chance of a girl bringing a 
wealthy husband into the family, whereas a boy does nothing 
for his parents after the age of fifteen or sixteen, when he 
marries and sets up house for himself. Seven days after 
birth the christening ceremony is held:; the Imam and Mu’azzin 
of the mosque are invited, together with the Uttuz-oghle (lit. 
“thirty sons’’), an assembly of neighbours which corresponds 
roughly to the Indian panchayat ; the priests give the child its 
name and recite certain verses of the Qur’an in return for small 
fees. Schooling at the makiab or mosque-school begins at 
four or five and continues until about seven if the parents are 
poor, nine if they belong to the middle class, and twelve or 
thirteen if they are rich. Besides the maktabs there are 
madrasas or colleges, which are very sparsely attended, only 
about 5 per cent. of the boys being sent to them at the age of 
fourteen or fifteen. Until fifteen or twenty years ago writing 
_ was scarcely taught at all; messages were entrusted verbally 
to a professional hafiz or “‘ rememberer,’’ who acted as post- 
man and could be relied upon not to forget or mix up his 
‘“letters,’’ however many he carried at a time from one town 
to another. Even now scarcely one maktab in ten teaches 
writing. Ordinary children merely learnt by heart certain 
chapters of the Qur’an, together with the rules of prayer and 
fasting. The older boys are taught at certain schools a little 
Persian literature (this is confined to the ‘‘ Gulistan,’’ the 
“ Bostan’’ and the “ Bedil’’) and read a few Turki books, 
such as “‘ Sufi Allahyar’’ and ‘‘ Nawai.’’ The fees are not 
excessive. For the first six months of schooling an entrance 
fee of two tengas (4d.) is paid, after which a fee of one 
dachin (ysth of 1d.), called the ‘‘ Panjshambalik,’’ is paid 
to the akhun or schoolmaster every Thursday (Panjshamba). 
Then when the Qur’an is begun a further six tengas initial 
payment is made and the Panjshambalik rises to three 
dachins. At each of the two ’Jds, i.e. at the end of the 


CUSTOMS AND FOLKLORE 195 


Ramazan fast, and at Qurban, the schoolmaster receives two 
tengas. During the winter months each child brings one 
stick of firewood, as well as one dachin as its contribution to 
the expense of papering the windows of the schoolroom ; 
most of these ‘“‘ perks’’ are retained by the schoolmaster. 
The ‘teaching’ consists merely in making the children 
sing the lesson over and over again at the top of their 
voices, all together, until it is known by heart; the more 
noise a school makes, the higher the reputation of the 
schoolmaster. 

The conditions of the “ marriage market’? and many of 
the matrimonial customs of the Eastern Turkis differ widely 
from those obtaining among the Kirghiz of the mountains, 
described in Chapter XI above. Instead of being at a 
premium, women are at a discount and no bride-price is paid. 
For a man, marriage is easy and cheap, and divorce even 
easier and cheaper. Among the agricultural classes, which 
form the large majority of the population, a man has seldom 
more than one wife at a time; but in the cities many men 
have at least two, always, be it noted, living in different 
towns or in different quarters of the same town. The harem 
system is unknown and would be impossible in Kashgar, 
owing to the quarrelsomeness of the women. The marriage 
age for girls is 12-14, for boys 15-16. The matches are 
always arranged between the respective parents, the wishes 
of the young people not being consulted. D. noticed at 
Kashgar that there was a great deal of rivalry among mothers 
about getting their daughters married off at the earliest 
possible age; even among the children themselves, a girl 
who reaches the age of fourteen without a husband is unmerci- 
fully chaffed by her companions. On the other hand, the 
Indian custom of not allowing a boy to see his fiancée until 
the wedding-day does not exist in Chinese Turkistan; the 
children have often known and played with each other for 
years. 

A certain amount of ceremony and importance attaches to 
a girl’s first toc or marriage. Her parents give a party to all 
the neighbours; the imam and mw’azzin are again present, 
and the bride and bridegroom eat together bread dipped in 
salt and water. Food and money are also given to the beggars 
and fees to the mullas; the bride receives a trousseau of 
clothes, jewellery and household utensils (tozluk), the bride- 
groom a coat and a pair of boots. The total expenses of a 


196 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


wedding, incurred almost entirely by the bride’s people (the 
bridegroom’s contribution is nominal), amount to anything 
from 30-50 taels (£4-£6 13s. 4d.), in the case of poor people 
to 2,000 taels (£233) or more, in that of the very rich. The 
only liability (and that merely a nominal one) incurred by the 
bridegroom is the hagg-i-mihr or settlement on his wife.? 
This varies between fifty and a thousand taels and is usually 
fixed verbally before the uttuz-oghle. It is regarded as a 
debt which may theoretically be claimed by the wife at any 
time up to her death; but it never is claimed except at 
divorce. In many cases the mihr is waived; in more than 
one ‘‘ divorce case’’ which came before me the husband 
claimed that his wife had let him off the mihr at the wedding, 
whereupon she challenged him to produce members of the 
uttuz-oghle to prove it.? 

From the house of the bride’s parents to that of the bride- 
groom a small party, accompanied by musicians, marches in 
procession through the streets, with the lady in front either 
riding a pony or donkey or walking, as the case may be. 
Arrived at her new home, the bride is not supposed to 
touch the threshold with her feet; she is lifted over it 
by her husband and his relations. However thankful she 
may be to get her daughter “ off,’ the mother of the bride 
is obliged by custom to weep and wail loudly during the 
marriage ceremonies; the girl, too, laments (probably with 
more sincerity) at leaving the home of her childhood. I took 
down the words of their traditional laments, which are rather 
pretty : 3 


1The hagq-i-mihy must not be confused with the maintenance 
payable for a hundred days by a husband to a wife whom he divorces 
against her will. Grenard (Vol. II, p. 119) says that the “‘ mehr” 
found in other Mussulman countries is an institution presque hors: 
d’usage dans le Turkestan chinois; this is correct so far as it goes, 
but it should be added that its existence is universally recognized, 
if only as a legal fiction. 

* Such disputes, like most civil and many criminal cases, are settled 
by the parties being sent to the Qazi or Mussulman judge, who hears 
the evidence and either passes judgment at once or orders one party 
or the other to take the oath; as a rule, the party on whom the oath 
comes refuses to take it and loses the case, for it is regarded as a dis- 
grace to swear on the Qur’an. Qasam-khor (‘‘ oath-eater’’) is a term 
of abuse, meaning a greedy or litigious person who sticks at nothing 
to win his case. 

§ Grenard (Vol. II, p. 250) has the mother’s lament, not the daughter’s, 
for which I am indebted to Murad Qari. 


CUSTOMS AND FOLKLORE 197 


MOTHER’S SONG 


Kichtk kina, qava kuz Little tiny dark-eyed one 
Wai balam / Alas, my child | 
Tilt tatliq, shivin suz Sweet of tongue, O silvery voice 
War balam / Alas, my child ! 
Balam mandin airilde My child is taken from me 
Wai balam / Alas, my child ! 
Uida yalghuz qalarman, In the house I am left alone, 
Wai balam, balam / Alas, my child! my child! 
DAUGHTER'S SONG 
Man anamdin airilip Torn from my mother's side 
Sunde ganatim qaralip ; My wings are broken and bent ; 
Man yiglamae, kim yiglasun Who may weep, if not I 
Janim dnamdin airilip ? Torn from my darling mother’s 
side ? 


Some days after the actual wedding two parties are given 
by the bride’s family, if well-off, one for the men and the 
other for the ladies. The following is an account by D. of 
a wedding party she attended in the women’s apartments of 
a wealthy household at Kashgar. It was by no means the 
first social function at which she assisted, for she frequently 
entertained and was entertained by the Kashgari wives of 
friends or dependants of the Consulate-General. Thanks to 
the colloquial knowledge of the language which she acquired, 
she thus became familiar with the feminine side of Turki 
social life, a subject on which I have found no first-hand 
information in any of the books I have read about Chinese 
Turkistan. 


‘*T rode to Y K ’s town house on Camel Sulaiman, followed 
in a Chinese cart by Aisha Khan resplendent in a new dress, a purple 
velvet jacket embroidered with silver and a black and gold cap. When 
we arrived a servant conducted us through a narrow passage to the 
door of the inner court-yard of the house, where the bridegroom’s 
mother and some of her friends and relations came out to receive us. 
The party had started at about half-past nine in the morning, and 
as it was now eleven most of the guests had already arrived and the 
women musicians were seated in a corner waiting to strike up. The 
room was large and whitewashed, and the guests in their gorgeous 
dresses sitting all round against the walls on quilts and gaily-coloured 
rugs made a wonderful blaze of colour. 

‘‘ Some sat cross-legged but most in the usual Turki position, i.e. 
sitting on their heels with their knees on the ground. Most of the 
women were wearing their wedding clothes and ornaments, consisting 
of velvet gold-embroidered caps of different colours, satin coats trimmed 
with Indian cloth of gold, bright-hued silk skirts and highly polished 
black boots like riding-boots. In front of their caps they wore a big 








198 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


spray of beaten-gold flowers quivering on gold wire stalks, bunches 
of similar ornaments above each ear and huge gold filigree earrings. 
Their hair was in plaits, with a long black silk tassel attached to each 
plait. The dresses were of red, blue, emerald, plum, purple, pink 
and many other bright tints, and the sunlight streaming through the 
one window lit up a most wonderful picture. 

‘‘ Two chairs had been placed side by side at one end of the room, 
one for me and one for the bride when she should come. One of 
the guests who came soon after me was another little bride, some 
relation of the family but not the girl for whose wedding the party 
was given. I was told that it was only her second appearance in 
public since her wedding, and it was perhaps for this reason that her 
reception was particularly pretty. All the ladies stood up, and as 
she was led from one to the other each gave her a kiss and shook hands 
Turki fashion, i.e. taking her clasped hands in theirs and then touching 
their own lips with a graceful gesture. She was only fifteen, I think, 
and terribly shy to begin with. She was led up to me and placed 
in the chair next mine for a few minutes, but she soon slid on to the 
floor and sat beside her younger sister, a talkative child of eleven who 
had been told off to fan me. <A few belated guests were ushered in, 
and having shaken hands all round, were assisted to take off their 
outdoor caps and veils and immediately presented by our hostess 
with brand-new indoor caps, which unlike the outdoor ones have 
no fur or lining. Some of the women had brought their own and 
politely refused the offer of a new one; but it must add consider- 
ably to the expense of giving a party when you have to provide 
indoor caps to guests who have forgotten theirs! Tea was served, 
soon after I arrived, in small china cups with sugar and no milk. Our 
hostess and her relations had none themselves, but spent their time 
handing round cups, filling them up with tea and spooning in sugar. 
There was one lady whom I could not take my eyes off, she was such 
a wonderful figure in her crimson satin dress with eight long plaits 
of hair hanging down from under her richly-embroidered cap, and 
fastened on to four of these long black silk tassels which swept the 
ground as she moved about. After the cups had been cleared away 
the musicians struck up and some of the ladies rose and danced in the 
usual way, one at a time; but soon the long narrow dastarkhwans 
or cloths spread on the ground for eating were put out once more and 
huge trays of peaches and nectarines were brought in. These disap- 
peared in a marvellously short time and were followed by some more 
music and dancing, and at about half-past twelve the wedding feast 
began in earnest. The first course was a very popular one called 
the Wedding Dish, a sort of soufflé made of stiffly-beaten white of 
egg and powdered sugar, which is always eaten at weddings. It was 
served in small bowls with pieces of bread. The arrival of this dish 
was a signal for a temporary relaxation of the intense decorum which 
had hitherto characterized the proceedings. The children who had 
come with their mammas, and who had up to now been playing in the 
court-yard, crowded into the room or leant in through the wide windows, 
clamouring for some of the Wedding Dish. The heat became terrific. 
The hostess had disappeared, presumably to superintend the prepara- 
tion of the special dishes which were to be served later on. The 
lady of the eight pigtails and other friends of the family, having 


CUSTOMS AND FOLKLORE 199 


changed their beautiful but hot satin dresses for simpler affairs of 
thin silk and muslin, hurried about refilling the bowls, breaking up 
the bread into suitable-sized pieces and looking after everybody, while 
two maids did their best to keep us all cool by flapping a large table- 
cloth in the middle of the room. When the last of the Wedding Dish 
had been finished, the dastavrkhwans were taken out to be shaken and 
we all had our hands washed Mussulman fashion; copper jugs and 
basins were brought in, and as each of us in turn held out our sticky 
hands the ladies of the house poured water over them into the basins. 
Huge piles of round flat loaves of bread about eighteen inches across 
then appeared and were placed at intervals opposite the guests. Next 
came large flat dishes of a savoury stew of mutton and vegetables, which 
was rapidly spooned up by the ladies with corners of bread. Titbits 
and succulent little bones with meat on them were handed through 
the window by fond mammas to their clamouring children. When 
this course was finished there were still a good many of the flat loaves 
remaining and these were distributed among the guests. One was 
rather tentatively offered to me; I accepted it joyfully, which was 
considered a great joke. Fruit, sweets and tea followed, and when 
everything had been cleared away and another hand-washing had 
taken place, the musicians struck up again. 

“The women danced and I found myself in conversation with a 
plump elderly dame, the mother of a leading ice-merchant, who was 
giving Aisha Khan and myself a graphic description of the illness and 
last moments of her first husband; I did not notice therefore that 
most of the older ladies had left the room, and it was only when 
Aisha Khan whispered ‘ They’ve gone to fetch the bride,’ that I awoke 
to the fact that satin dresses and velvet jackets had been resumed 
and every one was looking expectantly towards the door. A few 
minutes later, surrounded by elderly relatives and friends, the bride 
appeared. I gasped, for there in the afternoon sunlight which streamed 
through the windows stood a tall slim figure clad in glittering gold 
from head to foot. A long coat of gold brocade hid her satin dress, 
a veil of golden gauze fell round her face and down her back, great 
sprays of gold flower ornaments quivered in her cap and long earrings 
of gold and pearls and a heavy chain and pendant of the same metal 
completed her adornment. She might have been a bride for Tamerlane 
or some such great Emperor of the olden days! A thin white silk 
veil was thrown over her face and head, and she was led up to the 
chair beside mine with great ceremony and made to sit down. Poor 
thing, she was so nervous that her breath came in gasps and her hands 
when I touched them were icy cold. All the guests drew back, then 
a little girl of about four was pushed forward and running up to the 
bride snatched away the white veil. This was the signal for a regular 
outburst, all the guests screaming and laughing and chattering at 
the same time, and then falling on the bride and kissing her. When 
this, evidently the most important part of the ceremony, was over 
I thought it was about time to go, as it was nearly four o’clock. 

‘What strikes me most about these women is their manners, which 
are as pretty as their clothes. When the hostess gives tea or anything 
else to one of her guests, the latter rises and bows saying ‘ Ashkalla’ 
(thank you). On arrival and departure they make delicious little 
polite speeches to each other—much more picturesque than our mean- 


200 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


ingless ‘How do you do?’ They have nice smiling cheery faces 
and a way of appearing pleased to see one, which is most disarming. 
Some of them are startlingly beautiful in the regular Aryan style, 
with pencilled eyebrows, straight noses and oval faces; others have 
broad, rather flat faces like the Kirghiz, but laughter comes so easily 
to them that even the plain faces become attractive.” 


In nine cases out of ten, according to Murad Qari, these 
child-marriages de convenance are failures and soon dissolved. 
For the husband, there is no difficulty about a divorce; all 
he has to do is to go to the Qazi—the woman’s presence is not 
necessary—and put his seal on an affidavit (jaz) to the effect 
that he divorces his wife ; this affidavit costs him two tengas 
(4d.) and the thing is done. Lawful conditions and terms, 
if any, are included in the 7az, which also states whether the 
divorce is to be ba’im (permanent) or vaja’i (non-binding).} 

A wife cannot divorce her husband without his consent ; 
all she can do is to leave him and wait till he divorces her, 
when she can marry some one else after 100 days. As he can 
marry again at once and as often as he likes up to a total 
number of four wives at a time, he is in a strong position and 
can exact his own terms. These generally include the waiving 
of the mihr, and as low a figure as possible for the maintenance 
of the woman and any children there may be. In most cases 
it is the woman who is the suppliant, and the man who “‘ gives 
her a paper,”’ i.e. jaz or affidavit of divorce. Sometimes she 
pays quite a large sum for it; but this is illegal and must not 
be mentioned in the 7a7. In other cases she induces the man 
to let her go by giving up the furniture and utensils she brought 
with her to his house. 

Let me give one or two illustrations of the working of this 
curious system. Our coachman, Abdulla, was a much- 
married man. He went one better than the celebrated guard 
on the Paris-Lyons-Méditerranée, who had one wife and 
establishment in Paris and another at Marseilles, each un- 
aware of the other’s existence; for he kept a wife at Yarkand 
(whither he often accompanied us on tour) and two at Kashgar, 
one of them living at the Consulate and the other in the town. 
All went well until one day news reached the Consulate wife 
not only that the Yarkand lady existed, but that she pro- 
posed coming to Kashgar. As Mrs. Abdulla No. 1 wailed to 
D., “It’s bad enough his marrying that dreadful person in 

From the Arabic root rvaja’a, “ return,’ the wife being lawfully 


permitted to re-marry the same husband. After ba’in divorce this 
is illegal. 


CUSTOMS AND FOLKLORE 201 


the bazaar—if this Yarkandlik comes here I don’t know what 
will happen!’ However, not long afterwards glad news 
came to the effect that the Yarkand wife’s late husband, who 
had been to Leh trading, had come back and had been so 
annoyed with her for marrying Abdulla (her divorce had only 
been a vaja’t or ‘‘ non-binding ’”’ one) that he had promptly 
slit her nose! Neither of Abdulla’s Kashgar wives was 
afraid of her after that. 

D.’s maid, Aisha Khan, who was by profession a laundry- 
woman, had a good-for-nothing husband who had lived on 
her for years and refused to grant her a divorce. In the 
spring of 1924 he married another laundry-woman and began 
spending her money too—a double ‘‘ washerwoman’s husband.” 
It was not till just before we left that Aisha Khan, by offering 
to give up all the household property she had brought with 
her on marriage, induced him to divorce her. This was not 
the only case of ‘‘ washerwoman’s husband ”’ we came across. 
The wife of one of the Consulate staff employed a fine strapping 
woman-servant, the wife of an under-sized nonentity in the 
bazaar who never did a hand’s turn. D. spoke to the Con- 
sulate lady about this woman, asking whether she was un- 
happy and whether the man was not ashamed to live on his 
wife. ‘‘ Oh, no,” was the reply, “‘ he is a very good husband 
to So-and-so, very yawash (quiet) and tame; sits at home 
quietly and does not interfere with her comings and goings 
or make trouble in any way. She tells people that he works 
and is earning good money; but every one knows that he 
lives on her.” 

The weakness of their position and the looseness of the 
marriage tie undoubtedly bear hardly on women in towns, 
who have no security in their home life. Cases are only too 
frequent of wives legally deserted by their husbands with one 
or more children to look after and insufficient maintenance 
or none at all. Babies are often left on the steps of mosques 
on festival days, perhaps to be adopted by some good Mussul- 
man, perhaps not. But it must be remembered that con- 
ditions are much more healthy among the country people ; 
while even in the towns the position of women is not nearly 
so bad as in most Muhammadan countries. Only the wives 
of the wealthiest are strictly veiled, and even they visit each 
other’s houses, as in Persia. The women of the middle and 
lower classes have their own riding-donkeys and do their 
shopping in the bazaars freely ; as often as not it is the wife 


202 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


who holds the purse-strings and does the selling of the farm- 
produce as well as the buying. Nowadays it is quite a common 
thing for a married woman to have her own profession, dress- 
making, cap-embroidering, cotton-spinning, midwifery, cooking 
at restaurants, dyeing, soap-making, sorcery, laundering, 
brokering and so on. Out of doors they wear the chumbal or 
stiff rectangular veil, but most of the time this is thrown 
back over the head; only when some important male per- 
sonage comes along, such as a Chinese official or an Aqsaqal 
or a British Consul-General, do they pull the veil hastily down 
again fora few moments. This is in strong contrast to India, 
where only the women of the lowest castes go about unveiled. 

It must also be remembered that the average Turki man is 
a lazy, good-natured, easy-going, rather slow-witted person, 
so that the sharper-tongued, quicker-witted and more energetic 
woman more than holds her own—so long, at any rate, as she 
can keep her husband at her side. On the whole, the term 
mazlum-kisht (oppressed person), which is the regular word 
for ““ woman ”’ in Kashgaria, need not be taken too seriously. 
A woman above the average in looks or wit profits as much 
by the looseness of the marriage tie as her less-favoured sister 
suffers from it; she can exchange an uncongenial husband 
for a better one with very little difficulty. A Kashgar beauty 
dates her past life by her successive husbands, just as a racing 
enthusiast in this country dates his by Derby winners. I 
cannot say, however, that I heard of any woman approaching 
the matrimonial record of a certain good-looking Mussulman 
British subject of scarcely more than middle age, who was 
credited with having espoused over sixty different wives in 
his time, and was still going strong when we left. 

A married woman does not reach her full social stature © 
until she is thirty years old or more, when she attains the 
dignity of zawanlik. A jawan is a woman who has attained 
years of discretion and is entitled to the privilege of braiding 
her hair in two long plaits. This ‘‘ coming of age” is an 
important and festive event, like a wedding; the husband 
gives a large party called the jawanltk toi, to which both men 
and women are invited (they do not, of course, mix) ; at this 
feast she appears for the first time with her hair braided and 
wearing a special kind of shirt, known as the jawanchi konglak. 
She is now more important and respected than before; she 
is also worth more in the marriage market, for men do not 
like child-brides who know nothing and may at any moment 


CUSTOMS AND FOLKLORE 203 


run away back to their parents, whereas they will actually 
spend several hundred tengas on foiluk (trousseau) for the 
privilege of marrying a good-looking jawan. In the snatches 
of love-songs given below it will be noticed that the poet’s 
‘““mistress ’’ is often called yawan, never chokan or qiz (girl). 
The popular standpoint is expressed in the following old 
rhyme : 


Jan qadrvini kim bilsun P Who is it who knows what health 
is worth ? 

A ghriq bilma’e saq na bilsun. Not the healthy man who has 
never been ill. 

Er qadrini kim bilsun ? What woman is it that knows 
worth in a man? 

Jawan bilma@e quiz na bilsun. Not the girl who has never been 
a jawan. 


To marry one’s daughter to an infidel—a Chinaman or a 
Hindu—is regarded as no less disgraceful than to put her on 
the streets, and only the poorest do it. It is significant that 
the word used for a lady of easy virtue—jallab—is also applied 
to Turki wives of Chinese (other than Chinese Mussulmans) 
and Hindus. They are excommunicated by the priests and 
ostracized by their class. There are compensations, however. 
Chinamen and Hindus are much better husbands than Turkis, 
and the wives of “‘ infidels ’’ usually amass wealth. The wife 
of a Hindu is in a particularly strong position. Her husband 
has no legal rights over her ; if she runs away, the mullas will 
not lift a finger for him, and he must “ shell out ”’ again if he 
wants another wife. She can thus hold over him the threat 
of returning to her family, and tap his money-bags with 
confidence for herself and her relations. When he dies, she 
usually gets away with some or all of his property ; two or 
three cases were brought before me in which this had happened. 
But it is interesting to note that Islam usually triumphs at 
the last; an infidel’s wife will often use her wealth to pur- 
chase an “‘ indulgence ’’ on her death-bed and the right to a 
Mussulman burial. When she feels her end approaching, she 
will leave her home and settle in another town, where she is 
received back into the fold by the Imam and the wtiuz-oghle. 
She gives liberal donations to shrines and dedicates some or 
all of her land as wagf (religious trust) to the Church. The 
Qazi prescribes certain prayers and observances for the donor, 
who then dies in peace and is buried with full Mussulman 
rites. There is one serious drawback, however, to marrying 
a Hindu trader; and that is the fact that if and when he 


204 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


returns to India or dies, he or his next-of-kin, as the case may 
be, invariably demands his male children, if any; his right 
to them, as to his own property, isrecognized by the mullas. If 
the boys are less than five years old, the father leaves money 
according to law for their maintenance until that age, but 
arranges through the panchayat (association of Hindu traders 
in the town) for their despatch to India as soon as possible after- 
wards. This is naturally a grievance with the Turki mothers. 
The observances connected with death and burial are 
elaborate and expensive. On the day of the death alms in 
cash and a piece of soap each are given to the beggars. This 
is according to the Qur’anic injunction, but the “ wakes ’’ 
which follow are not shar’s (according to Muhammadan law), 
but vasm or “ customary,’ i.e. pagan or Chinese. They are 
not approved by the Church. On the third day (in well-to-do 
households) the whole quarter, rich and poor, is invited to a 
feast at which not only are large quantities of food consumed, 
but presents of clothes are given to all and sundry; this, I 
understand, is a Chinese custom. On the seventh day another 
feast is given, at which only relations and friends are present. 
The actual funeral takes place on the day following death. 
Those present wear a mourning costume consisting of black 
clothes with a white waistband; this latter is another con- 
cession to Chinese ideas, according to which the mourning 
colour is white, not black. Expenditure in connection with 
a funeral varies from 30 to 500 taels, according to the capacity 
of the household ; only a small proportion of this is set off by 
the presents, called ¢a’ziyat, given to the next-of-kin by his 
friends and relations. Great importance is attached to the 
lamentations (qushdaq) of the deceased’s relatives at a funeral, 
which are regarded as helping him in some way—an obvious 
relic of paganism. According to an old popular rhyme: 


Sahrv waqtida chirvlaghalé For crowing at the dawn 
Cha khuraz yakhshi ; Spotted chanticleer is best ; 

Qushagq qushup yighlaghalé For keening at a wake 
Qarindash yakhsht. A loved one is the best. 


Some of the elegiacs sung by widows are really beautiful ; 
for example: 
Qupselay Allah deb qupghan Khojam 
Yatselay Allah dep yatghan Khojam., 
Yaz uzuqum, Khojam, 
Qish yapinjim, Khojam, 
Sui-yoq kulda qaldem, 
Sayasi-yog bostanda qaldem, 





THE WALLS OF KHOTAN 





A STORY-TELLER AND HIS AUDIENCE, KARGHALIK 


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ne 


Ay 
i para, hit 


on 





CUSTOMS AND FOLKLORE 205 


(Translation) 


When you arose, oh my Lord, it was with God’s name on your lips; 
When you lay down, it was in God’s name. 
In summer you fed me, oh my Lord; 
In winter you were my cloak. 
I am left in a lake with no water in it, 
I am left in a garden in which there is no shade. 


In considering the manners, customs, folklore, etc., of 
the Tarim Basin, it must be remembered that considerable 
differences exist between the four or five chief oases, corre- 
sponding roughly to their geographical positions. To 
differentiate between them and make a comparative study of 
material from the different towns would be impossible in the 
space at my disposal, even if I possessed the necessary know- 
ledge. Speaking generally, however, it may be remarked 
that Kashgar is the least medieval and at the same time the 
most Mussulman of the Six Cities. Culturally it belongs to 
the Transcaspian Khanates, Khogand, Bokhara, Samarqand 
and Khiva, strongholds of Islam. Owing to its proximity to 
the Russian frontier and the strong interest taken in it by the 
Muscovite Government since the seventies, it has a thin— 
a very thin—veneer of Russian culture. Aqsu, 300 miles 
nearer Urumchi and separated from Russian territory by 
the tremendous barrier of the Central Tien Shan, is a pre- 
dominantly Uigur city with strong Mongol and Chinese strains. 
Kucha, 200 miles further east, is also an ancient Uigur city, 
and has a history and an art of its own. Further east still, 
Oarashahr is the chief centre of that formidable and unpleasant 
race, Chinese by culture and Mussulman by religion, the 
Tungans. Yarkand is the meeting-place ofthe nations ; in its 
culture neither China nor Russia are of much account, and such 
foreign influence as there is comes through Afghanistan from 
Persia and through Kashmir from India. The great oasis of 
Khotan or Ilchi is in many ways the most interesting of all, 
for it is the part of the Tarim Basin which has been least 
affected by outside influences, including Islam, It was 
probably a flourishing pagan State long before Buddhism 
reached it from India. For a thousand years it was the seat 
of an Indo-Scythian civilization under Chinese influence, with 
a rich and ornate Buddhism as its official religion ; was it 
not to Khotan that the Han Emperor Ming Ti sent in A.D. 65 
the famous Mission which brought back Buddhism to Cathay ? 
The Kingdom fought hard against Islam, holding out for 


206 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


centuries, and even now that Faith is noticeably weaker here 
and paganism stronger than at Yarkand or Kashgar. With 
this fact is undoubtedly connected—whether as cause or 
effect it is difficult to say—Khotan’s pre-eminence in arts 
and crafts. As I have already remarked, its people weave 
better, embroider better, work metal better and design more 
artistically than those of any other oasis in the province, not 
even excepting Kucha. At Khotan, singing and playing are 
not a monopoly of the professionals, but are practised by all 
classes; D. tells me that the dancing at the women’s parties 
is noticeably more natural and lively than the somewhat 
stilted (though never ungraceful) measures danced by the 
beauties of Kashgar. 

The following is an account from one of D’s. letters of the 
dancing at a typical Kashgar “‘ purdah party.”’ 


*‘'When the food had been cleared away, the three musicians set 
up a song and a lively tune on the guitar and tambourine. After 
a becoming hesitation one of the guests got up and danced. It was 
curious dancing, rhythmical, rather stiff, without much variety in 
the steps, but a great deal of graceful arm-work, yet quite different 
from the typical Indian nautch. As she danced, one by one the other 
guests rose, walked up to her with money in their hands, passed their 
arms over her head, and then dropped the money into a tray in front 
of the musicians. When every one including myself had given some- 
thing, the dancer turned to one of the other guests and danced in 
front of her until she got up and took the floor, when the first one 
subsided into a corner. This process was repeated until all the guests 
had danced except myself. During the dancing of each guest all 
the others put money into the musicians’ tray with the same ceremonial, 
often only a copper or two, but always something. Some of the richer 
ones dropped presents of Indian cloth of gold, Chinese silk or Russian 
velvet, into the musicians’ tray. Then, as every one looked at me, 
I got up and gave them a Highland sword-dance, which was a huge 
success and brought the band large sums.”’ 


The Eastern Turkis are a musical race. At Kashgar 
professional minstrels abound and are in request at every 
party. The instruments most commonly in use are the dotar, 
a two-stringed guitar; the Persian vabab, a six-stringed kind 
of mandoline; and the dof or tambourine. The surnai or 
pipe of Afghanistan is also occasionally heard. The ballad is 
still a living verse-form, and the troubadours of Artush are 
famous for their improvizations on any subject. Two days 
after the defeat and execution of the Titai a ribald ballad, 
which I took down later, was being sung about him in the 
streets. The young men and boys sing everywhere they go; 


CUSTOMS AND FOLKLORE 207 


their strong voices are quite untrained and the sounds they 
emit are sometimes astonishing, but one can detect traces 
of melody even among the saxophone-like warblings of the 
donkey-drivers. D.is not a great musician, and my ignorance 
on the subject is “ extensive and peculiar,’ but it was impos- 
sible not to be struck by the tunefulness and intelligibility 
of the local music compared with that of India and (still 
more) of China Proper. 

In the course of my studies of the Eastern Turki language 
I transcribed many of the songs sung by the beggars and 
wandering musicians. There is no more difficult task in 
a foreign language, and it was only with the invaluable assist- 
ance of Murad Qari that I was able to puzzle out and translate 
the words; Qari himself was more than once at fault, for 
some of the verses are very old and the singers themselves 
could not always explain them. The “ Ballad of Said Nochi 
Gangung ”’ is of Kashgari origin, and my favourite quatrain, 
““My white hawk hath flown from my hand,’ would seem 
from its reference to the hills of Besh Karim, to be the work 
of an Artush bard. But it was at Yarkand, Khotan and—of 
all places—Polu, high up among the wild gorges of the Kunlun 
south of Keriya, a few miles from the lofty northern rim of 
Tibet, that Qari and I found our best “‘bits.’’ It was most 
surprising to find a strain of true poetry in so remote a place 
as Polu. Ata feast I gave in the house of the yuz-bashi (head- 
man), a simple affair of tea, bread and boiled sheep, with a 
singsong to follow, there was a thin-faced lad with a great 
sheepskin cap who twanged his guitar like a master and sang 
verses of his own composition which would have done credit 
to the shepherds of Arcadia or Sicily of old. The material I 
collected may be divided into songs of poverty and exile, love- 
songs, comic ditties and popular snatches of various kinds, and 
ballads. Here are some specimens, with a Turki original in 
each class to show the verse-form : 


(A) SONGS OF POVERTY AND EXILE 
(I) 


Atam surse, dnam surse, ‘“‘ Yuraidur’’ danglir 
“ Kungle ghamda, kuze yashda yiglaidur’”’ danglar. 


If my father ask you, if my mother ask you, 
Say “ He is distraught.” 

Say ‘‘ His heart is sorrowful, his eyes are full of tears,” 
Say ‘“‘ He weeps for you.” 


208 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 
(2) 


The choughs are among the mountain-tops 
The torrents flow through the foot-hills ; 

Poverty has left its mark upon me. 
Where are my father and my mother ? 


(3) 
The road to Andijan is sandy, 
None has e’er put sickle to it; 
We are two poor brothers, 
None was e’er sO poor as we. 


(4) 

My horse is gone from before me, 
My whip is no more at my side. 
E’en though this be my native land 

Poverty is come upon me, 


(B) LovE-soncGs 


(5) 
Rababimning dastast The neck of my guitar is painted 
like a partridge 
Keklik-qashi, yilan-bashi ; And like a snake’s head inlaid ; 
Izd’sam tapilmaedur But search where I may I cannot 
find 
Sikilak fawan qalam-qashi. My Love of the curls and the 
pencilled eyebrows. 
(6) 


The cocks are crowing to each other: 
Surely it is the dawn ? 

At the street-corner men are weeping to one another: 
Surely a famous Lady is dead ? 


(7) 
Is there a pea within the twanging, 
Twanging of my lute? 
Is there a stone within the breast 
Of her who sets me afire ? 


(8) 
I became a butterfly, I flew away, 
I came to thy garden of flowers. 
Though my stature be so tiny 
I am afire with love for my mistress, 


(9) 
So great is my love for my dear one, 
E’en though I planted it, it could grow no taller; 
So fair is the river of my tears, 
If I watered my horse from it, he would never be 
satisfied. 


CUSTOMS AND FOLKLORE 209 
(10) 


Altunda chilim bolse Let my pipe be of gold 
Marwarid kuze bolse Let its eyes be of pearl? 
Biy chaksim tambakungnt, Let me smoke but one puff of thy 
tobacco, 
Kuyak ute ada bolse The fire that consumes me would 


be appeased. 
(11) 


Behind my back the banks of my canal are broken, 
No one can keep them from falling ; 

This mistress of mine is a mischievous mistress, 
No one knows what she will do next. 


(12) 
Oh that I had a samovar ! 
I would have tea ready boiling, 
And while she drank but one cup 
My Love would sport with me awhile.. 


(13) 


My white hawk hath sped from my hand 
To the hills of Besh Karim ; 
Howsoe’er I lure her, she will not come back to my 
luring, 
She hath flown to the Garden of Paradise.? 


(C) MISCELLANEOUS 


(14) 
If I would have a red rose blooming 
I must not pluck it in the bud; 
If I want not to fall in love 
I must not stay in this city. 


(15) 
Fine white cloth, fine red cloth, 
Fine cloth dyed all colours ; 
No word is there of the lads that are gone 
And all the maids are sighing. 


1T.e, let it be inlaid with mother-of-pearl. 

2 The white hawk (toighun) is very highly prized in Central Asia (see 
p. 233). Besh Karim, to the north-east of Kashgar, is the most fertile 
and picturesque district of the oasis. 

14 


210 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


(16) 
Taqdiv-ullah taghni yeraide 
Taghni yeratde ; 
Tagh-avasint qavanghu dep 
Aini yeratde. 


Almighty God created the mountains, the mountains ; 
Then because it was dark in the depths of the moun- 
tains, He created the moon. 


(17) 
If I sow maize upon a mountain-top, 
‘Tl scatter to the winds,” it says; 
If I take a sweetheart from a far country, 
““Tll throw you o’er,’”’ she says. 


(18) 
A fearful tiger lying on the path 
Can keep even a lion at bay; 
He upon whom has fallen his father’s curse 
Can go no further on life’s way. 


(19) 
(Refrain) 
Keling, yarim, kullawalilé Come, my Beloved, laugh with me, 
Khursand bolup oinawalilé : Let us dance and happy be. 


Some of the rhymes about particular towns are amusing ; 
Keriya, for instance, has a reputation for gallantry : 


(20) 
On my right hand are ten rings, 
The stones are false, only the hoops are true; 
Of ten pretty things the lads of Keriya say 
Only one is true. 


(22) 
Aqsu kalalave simiz, surun yernt khalatdur ; 
Keriya balaléve yaman, ch’atltk yarni khalaidur. 


Aqsu kine are fat kine, they love a luscious meadow; 
Keriya lads are bad lads, they love a pretty woman. 


(D) BALLaps 


These are sung (never written) either in the tripping eight- 
syllable metre of ‘‘ Hiawatha,” or in rhyming quatrains. They 
are composed by anonymous minstrels on passing events of 
importance ; no one, I was told, seemed ever to know who had 


CUSTOMS AND FOLKLORE 211 


composed a particular ballad. Of those sung in quatrains the 
following stanzas are typical; they concern the murder of a 
British subject called Qadir Haji at Karghalik in 1910: 


(22) 
Ala dining Glasi Like a piebald mare 
Sungachida balast (That has lost) the foal at her side, 
Qushugq qushup yighlaidur Weeps and wails, lamenting 
Qadiv Hajimning danasi. The mother of my Qadir Haji. 
Aq almaning chichake, White buds were on the apple-tree, 
Nimalar bolde pichake ? What has become of the blossom ? 
Yollda tushup qalipdur On the highway where it fell 
Qadir Hajimning tilpake. Lies the cap of my Qadir Haji. 


Some of the ballads are comic, as for example a short one 
I heard at Khotan beginning delightfully : 


Mulla Tokhta ’kam Unbdashi 
Kirde bazargha Mingbashi. 


(23) 
THE Sap Story oF MuLLA TOKHTA AND 
THE FARTHING’S WORTH OF TRIPE 
Brother Mulla Tokhta, headman of our village, 
Swaggered into market as if he were the Mayor.} 
He hired himself a donkey 
And bought a rope for a halfpenny 
And a piece of tripe for a farthing 
And hung the tripe from the donkey’s neck. 
The donkey promptly bolted 
And kicked the beggar in the stomach. 
(Mulla Tokhta) walked home with the tripe, 
Took his knife without a handle and cut it up, 
Took his spoon without a handle and stirred it, 
Said “‘ Let’s have a feed,’ and was just sitting down 
When in burst six policemen, 
Ate up all the tripe and went away. 


The best ballad I got was a Kashgar one which appears 
to be the latter part of a long epic dealing with the exploits 
and death of Said Nochi, a famous “‘ Gangung’”’ or brigand 
and popular hero of Kashgaria in the early years of the present 
century. Owing to his popularity the Chinese did not dare 
to arrest him openly and send him to Kashgar to be dealt with 
by the Tao Tai, for fear of his being rescued by his friends on 
the way. The lines literally translated below describe the 


1 Mingbashi means literally ‘‘headman of a thousand families,”’ 
and unbashi “‘ headman of ten families.” 


212 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


stratagem by which they inveigled him to Kashgar and the 
manner of his end. The minstrel who sang it began with a 
quaint prologue consisting of a quatrain of the “‘ Songs of 
Poverty ”’ type, followed by another quatrain in a different 
metre in praise of Kashgar. The ballad itself is in the same 
metre as ‘‘ Mullah Tokhta ’kam.”’ 


(24) 
The Ballad of Said Nochi Gangung 
(Prologue) 


I am twenty-six years old, 
Poverty has fallen upon my head : 
To whom shall I tell my story ? 
To my dear one, my brother. 
Of ninety-nine thousand cities 
Is Kashgar the queen, 
Kashgar is the city 
Whence Said Nochi Gangung came 
x * * * * 


Said Akhun ! went away, 

Six months he travelled from city to city, 

Twenty-five cities did he visit. 

Then came he to Old Turfan ? 

At its famous shrine.$ (5) 
Forty days he kept the Fast of Silence. 

On the forty-first day, 

Having completed his Silence, 

He returned whence he had come. 

Then he came to Uch Turfan. (10) 
As he was sitting in a tea-house there 4 

Magistrate Wang happened to see him. 

‘Oho, Nochi, Said Gangung, 

Five hundred soldiers have I here, 

Be captain over them, I pray thee. (15) 
Ninety-five taels monthly pay 

And thy rations will I give thee.’’ 

When he had finished speaking 

Said Akhun, whom men call Gangung, 

Answered and said “ So be it.” (20) 
In the city called Uch Turfan 

Of five hundred soldiers 

Became he commander and took up his abode. 








1“ Akhun”’ in Kashgaria is practically equivalent to ‘ Mr.” or 
ce Sir.’’ 

2An ancient town situated in a depression below sea-level, 100 
miles S.E. of Urumchi; so called at Kashgar to distinguish it from 
Uch Turfan. 

® Literally ‘‘ like the Ashab ul Kahf,” which, I believe, is a famous 
shrine in one of the Holy Cities. 

‘Literally, ‘‘ at the samovar,’’ because all tea-shops use them. 


CUSTOMS AND FOLKLORE 213 


In the city called Uch Turfan 

Fifty months he sojourned.} (25) 
When the fifty months were over 

Magistrate Wang summoned him. 

‘Oho, Gangung, Said Nochi, 

Since thou camest to this city 

Fifty months have passed and gone, (30) 
And no high office hast thou held. 

I will give thee a sealed letter ; ? 

This paper take with thee (sc. to Kashgar) 

And give it to the Tao Tai. 

Of one of the four gates (35) 
He will appoint thee Captain,” 

When his enemy had spoken thus 

(Said Nochi took) his own death-warrant ? 

And fastened it in his waistband. 

At the time of evening prayer (40) 
Brought he it to Kashgar city. 

When he came to Kashgar city 

To his mother’s house he went 

And knocked upon the door. 

His mother, prudent woman, (45) 
Opened the door and came out. 

Seeing Said Akhun, 

She asked him how he fared ; 

‘““O my son, Sait Gangung, 

I have been separated from thee (50) 
These fifty months past. 

After all these fifty months 

If thow’lt stay one night with me 

I shall attain my heart’s desire.’ 

When his mother said these words (55) 
He stayed one night with her. 

On the morrow at dawn’s first light 

He sought out Mamat Khan 

Expounded to him the matter ; 

Then went they out to Hazrat Apak (60) 
And on a couch by the big lake 

Were sitting at a tea-house. 

Suddenly came four men-at-arms ; 

‘Oho Gangung Sait Nochi 

The Lord Tao Tai summons thee.” (65) 
When he heard the words, Lord Tao Tai 

He leapt up in his place. 

** God’s will be done,’’ he said.¢ 


1“ Fifty months ”’ is used vaguely to express a long interval of time. 

8The Sino-Turki word yudan is used; it means a written order 
from a magistrate or high official. 

’ Note the “ tragic irony’’ in the best Greek Tragedy style. 

“ Alhukm’ullah, the words prescribed by the Qur’an to be said on 
the point of death. Tragic irony again. 


214 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


When he came before the Lord Tao Tai (70) 
He said his say, word by word,? 

Made deep obeisance and sat down. 

They placed a cup of tea before him. 

When he had drunk the Chinese tea 

He unfastened his waist-band (75) 
Took out the death-warrant and gave it (to the Tao Tai). 
When (Nochi) gave him the death-warrant 

The Tao Tai took and read it 

And bowed down his head. 

Looking closely at Said Akhun, (80) 
He gave order to fire a salute of one gun 

And spoke as follows: 

“Q Nochi Said Gangung 

If thou hadst stayed in Kashgar ? 

And hadst disported thyself like a red rose-bud (85) 
Thou needest never have gone to that city (Uch Turfan) 

Nor stayed there until thou brought me 

Thine own death-warrant. (90) 
Now, O Gangung Said Nochi 

Thou hast brought thine own death-warrant to me. 

The names of seven Lords are upon it, 

It is sealed with the seal of office. (95) 
Tell me, dost thou believe in the Power of God? ”’ 

When the Tao Tai asked this question 

(Nochi replied) ‘OQ Amban, Lord Amban, 

This is indeed an order of the Government ; 

I believe in the Power of God ; (100) 
Whatever thou hast to do this day, do it.” 

When he had spoken, the Lord Tao Tai 

Ordered his carriage to be made ready, 

Ordered a waggon to be brought ; 

A salute of nine guns was fired. (105) 
Sait Akhun went off in the waggon 

Five thousand men followed after him. 

When he came to the city gate 

Six executioners passed before him. 

**Oho Nochi Said Gangung (110) 
Shall we shoot thee from in front 

Or shall we shoot thee from behind ?”’ 

** Shoot me from behind,’’ he said. 

The Chief of the Six Executioners 

Fired but one shot. (115) 
From this world to the next 

With God’s name on his lips journeyed Said Nochi. 


The following is a selection from a number of proverbs 
and popular sayings I came across while studying the Eastern 


1The meaning of the Turki line is doubtful. It may refer to his 
ceremonial greetings to the Tao Tai. 

*The next seven lines are extremely involved and I have been 
obliged to paraphrase somewhat. 


CUSTOMS AND FOLKLORE 215 


Turki language. I was interested to find scarcely any of 
them identical with the Persian proverbs I had collected 
at Kerman, in spite of the strong Persian influence in the 
language. What is still more remarkable, however, is the 
fact that only two of them (Nos. 4 and 16) correspond with 
proverbs current in modern Turkey ; this, at any rate, is what 
I found on examination of that most exhaustive collection of 
Osmanli Turkish popular sayings, ‘‘Osmanische Sprichworter ”’ 3 


PROVERBS AND POPULAR SAYINGS 
(1) Ishak minmagan adam ishak minip ulturedur. 

When aman who has never been on a donkey gets one to ride, 

he kills it. (Cf. ‘‘ beggars on horseback ’’), 
(2) Ishak khotake minmaganlayv emde mindy tai 
Arpabadian ichmaganlay emde ichay chat. 

Those who never even rode a donkey’s foal, now ride yearling 
horses; those who never even drank barley gruel now drink 
tea. (Nouveaux riches.) 

(3) Mushukni bir ishgha buivadem, mushuk qurugini buirade. 
I gave an order to the cat, and the cat gave it to its tail. 
“(Refers to a habit of Oriental servants of passing an order 
from one to another right down through the household, with the 
result that the thing never gets done.) 
(4) Haiwdn-ning alasi tashida, insan-ning @last ichida. 

A beast’s spots are on the outside, a man’s on the inside. 
(Cf. the Osmanli Turkish proverb haiwan a’lasi tishinda, insan 
a’lasi ichinda.) 

(5) Itigening gosage achse, yentag-ga boininit uzutedur. 
en the camel’s stomach is empty, he stretches down his 
neck even to the thorn-bush. 

(6) Yitkan mdlning sape altun. 

The whip that’s lost always had a golden handle. 
(7) Bat baigha, su saigha. 

The rich stand by the rich as the stream seeks the desert. 
(8) Hunjuyr marjan tash tken Jewels and coral are but stones 

Arpa puchag ash then. Barley and beans make soup. 

(i.e. riches are no use to a man who is lost in the desert.) 
(9) Abdal yamanlase, khurjingha ziyan. 

If a beggar loses his temper, it is his pouch that suffers. 
(Cf. the Persian proverb qahr-i-darvish ru-y-i-darvish, “ the 
wrath of a beggar is on his own head.”’ For the Abdals, see 
Sykes, ‘ Through Deserts and Oases of Central Asia,’ p. 242. 

(10) Hawaning gulduve bar, yamghtre yoq 
Buwaning achige bar, maqdtre yoq. 
If the wind roars, there’ll be no rain; 
If an old man storms, he storms impotently. 
(11) Beymas qizning nivkhe ustun. 

The girl whom her father does not want to give in marriage 

is priced high. 


1‘*K, K. Orientalische Akademie,’’ Wien, 1865. 


“216 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


(12) Oghve birnima tapalmase, uzining nahin oghurla’ edur. 

When a thief can’t find anything else, he steals his own 
cap. 

(13) Puli-barning gepe ong, puli-yogning gepe tong. 

A rich man’s word is always right, a poor man’s talk is always 
silly. 

(14) Az vegan un yer, 71k yegan bir yer. 

He who eats sparingly eats ten times, he who eats too much 
eats once. 

(i.e., he gets ill and in the long run eats less than the other.) 

(15) Ustun baqip tukursang, yanip chushur yuzung-ga. 

If you spit up into the air, it will fall back upon your face. 

(i.e. don’t bandy words with a low fellow or you will get 
worse than you give.; The Osmanli Turkish proverb is Ruzgara 
tukuvan yuzina tukurur. 

(16) Sui-bar jaida ut yog 
Uti-bayv j@ida su yog 
Hawa salqin pasha yog 
Ata bivlan ana yoq. 

At the camping-place where there’s water, there’s no graz- 
ing; where there’s grazing, there’s no water; where there 
are no mosquitoes, the wind is bitter; when you’ve got your 
father, your mother isn’t there. 

(Cf. ‘“‘ Never the time and the place and the loved one all 
together.’’) 

(17) Ishak-ga tagharni ebarmang 

Don’t send the load after the donkey (sc. bring the donkey 
back to the load—‘‘ putting the cart before the horse’’), 

(18) Khurtis wagtni ma lum qeladur, manzilni ishak. 

The cock tells you the time, the donkey tells you where your 
halting-place is (by braying). 

(19) Bar baqtr, yoq altun. 

Where there’s copper, there’s no gold. 

(i.e. a man is either gold all through, or copper all through.) 

(20) Adam uttuz, Khuda toqquz. 

Man says thirty, God says nine (Man proposes... .). 

(21) Ishengan taghda kik yatmas. 

The mountain-goat does not lurk among frequented mountains. 
(i.e. if a thing is worth getting, you have to go far afield and 
take trouble to get it.) 

(22) Qush ganatin, ar atin. 

The eagle has his wings, the man his horse. 

(23) Buyerda tukhe-suidin bilak hama nersa tapaledur. 

You can get anything here except chicken’s milk (said of a 
very fertile country). 

(24) Man alduraiman keighalé, ishakim alduraidur yatghaleé. 

I am in a hurry to go on, my donkey is in a hurry to lie down. 
(one man’s meat is another man’s poison). 

(25) Ishak hangraghan ja igha barmang. 

Don’t go where the donkey brays (if you want to avoid 
your fellows; in Chinese Turkistan, where there are people 
there are donkeys and where there are donkeys there are people). 


CUSTOMS AND FOLKLORE 217 


The most curious and amusing piece of popular lore I came 
across was a quaint litany which I took downat Khotan. The 
refrain Panah berghil Khudayim means, almost literally, ‘‘ Good 
Lord, deliver us’’ and there must be some echo of Christianity 
in it; but whether it dates back to the Nestorian Church 
which flourished in these parts between the 7th and 14th cen- 
turies, or whether it is of more recent origin, it is difficult to say. 


A KuoTANn LITANY 


Yoligha tushgan patikdin From quicksands on the road 
Tinjip galgan qatikdin From curds that have gone bad 
Panah berghil, Khudayim. Good Lord, deliver us. 


From the thorny branch of the wild apricot 
From the old of womankind 
Good Lord, deliver us. 


From the nose-bag of astallion (i.e. from being within reach of his teeth), 
From a wife who has taken to thieving 
Good Lord, deliver us. 


From the hard clods of a salt plain (because they hurt when they 
hit you), 

From the hard words of an old wife 
Good Lord, deliver us. 


From a horse that trots with his tail straight out behind him, 
From a policeman who arrests you without a warrant 
Good Lord, deliver us. 


From a learned man without manners, 
From a hen that is perpetually clucking 
Good Lord, deliver us. 


From rats in the hay-loft, 
From a child-bride who runs away back to her parents 
Good Lord, deliver us. 


From a threshing-floor with nothing to thresh on it, 
From a guest who comes just at harvest-time 
Good Lord, deliver us. 


From the weirs of Daraskal (because they are so slippery that you 
fall in if you try to cross the canal by them), 

From the pencilled eyebrows of a woman 
Good Lord, deliver us. 


CHAPTER XIV 
AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 


N the autumn of 1923 we carried out a tour to which 
| we had long looked forward, north-eastward along the 

southern slopes of the Tien Shan to Uch Turfan, Aqsu and 
beyond, returning by the ordinary plains route wid the Tarim 
River valley and the Maralbashi jungles. 

Our way at first led for 220 miles through the outer ranges 
of the Tien Shan to the frontier town of Uch Turfan. We 
were not so fortunate as usual in our transport, for all that the 
Aqsaqal of Kashgar could raise for us was a mixed lot of inferior 
ponies and donkeys in charge of a lazy and inefficient boy of 
fourteen, the son of the real carrier who ought to have come 
with us. Leaving Kashgar on September 2, D. and I accom- 
panied by Murad Qari rode 54 miles across the rich lands 
of Besh Karim and a strip of desert to the Kalta Yailaq 
oasis, near the north edge of which we found our tents pitched. 
It was a hot day, and the march was the longest we ever did. 
According to our usual time-saving custom we had sent 
the caravan ahead the day before; the orderly in charge 
had gone seven miles beyond the appointed camping-place, 
so that it was nearly eleven o’clock at night before we got 
in. 
Two days later we crossed a low pass among the barren 
foot-hills north of Sughun Qaraul; the summit is marked by a 
grim shrine called Allahyar Beg, consisting of little but a post 
decorated with the skull and backbone of a donkey and the cap 
of a man who had once died there. We saw few travellers — 
on the road, and those mostly traders in grain and local 
cotton cloth between Uch Turfan and Kashgar. One evening 
I talked with a young man of Artush whom we overtook. He 
had four donkeys with him, on which he told me he was taking 
flour up into the mountains to trade with the Kirghiz for 
sheep. He did this two or three times in the year, he said, 

218 





IN THE YANGI ART JILGHA, TIEN SHAN MOUNTAINS [p. 225 





; : pales pel ‘ 
. <4\ ff) eee Li) ALS te _ may 
i ‘Wee eae aN ie, for 







AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 219 


and went all over the mountains. He seemed a good type of 
youth, sturdy, cheerful and independent. 

The Yai Débe plain, on which we now debouched, is a small 
but perfect example of the inland drainage basins character- 
istic of Central Asia. Situated at an average elevation of 
5,000 feet, it is some 60 miles long by 15-20 broad and is 
enclosed on the north by one of the parallel ranges of the 
Tien Shan with peaks up to 13,000 feet, on the south and east 
by foothills rising to 8,000 feet. It has no outlet, but boasts 
its own miniature Lop Nor in the shape of a salt lake near its 
south-eastern corner. Like the hamans of Persian Baluchistan 
and Sistan, this lake varies in size according to the rainfall 
in the mountains, from practically nothing to a sheet of water 
40 or 50 square miles in area. The rest of the Yai Dobe plian 
is partly barren, partly covered with tamarisks and a sparse 
forest of desert poplar. Some of these trees attain a great 
age and size; they are not in the least like poplars, resembling 
rather the British oak. Here and there in the forest are 
springs of fresh or slightly brackish water, each with farm- 
steads or Kirghiz tents in the vicinity. In the spring and 
autumn the woodland is delightful, but in summer the mos- 
quitos and gadflies for which both it and the Maralbashi 
jungles to the south are notorious make it uninhabitable by 
man or beast. 

For fifty miles we marched across this curious plain. 
On September 5 we passed out of the desert-poplar forest 
and camped the same evening at the springs of Yairam 
Bulak. Here two families of Kirghiz had pitched their aq-ors 
near a couple of tiny crofts shaded by willows, landmarks 
for miles in the great sweep of bare plain. We liked the 
Kirghiz of these hills and got on well with them, but we could 
not help noticing that they were less hospitable than their 
cousins of our beloved “‘ Alps of Qungur.”” They never asked 
us into their aq-ois, nor did they seem to regard us guests as 
the others (often quite embarassingly) did. It struck me that 
there might be two reasons for this. In the first place, living 
on the Russian border, they are at once less secure and more 
sophisticated. In the second, a trade route much used by 
Turki merchants passes through their territory ; these men, 
I was told, were in the habit of taking supplies whenever they 
could and not paying for them. But the Tien Shan Kirghiz 
could be friendly enough when once their confidence had been 
gained. The ladies of Yairam Bulak crowded round D., whose 


220 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


like they had never seen before. They were particularly 
impressed by the gold in my teeth; they asked D. about it, 
evidently thinking it was a kind of ornament. They also 
asked her what my other wife was like, and whether she never 
travelled. D. explained that in the West men had only one 
wife at a time, whereupon they exclaimed “‘ Aren’t you lonely ?”’ 

In this country nomadic and settled Kirghiz are mixed, not 
separated by an uninhabited belt and a distinct difference in 
level, asin the mountains to the south of the Kashgarian plain. 
Our next camp was at a scattered village of crofts called 
Pichan; behind it, a line of the curious domed tombs of 
Kirghiz-land cresting a bluff showed that the settlement was 
an old one. We made great friends with the enormously 
fat and jovial Beg of the place, a regular Falstaff. He told us 
that the little community had been almost-ruined three years 
before, when the disturbances in Semirechia following the intro- 
duction of the Soviet régime had resulted in the migration of 
thousands of families, Sarts and Kirghiz, to Chinese territory. 
“They brought huge flocks of sheep and goats with them,” 
he said, “‘ which ate up all the grass, so that there was none for 
the Pichan flocks and they died. Our stock was thus destroyed, 
and now we can’t work it up again because we have no surplus 
for breeding. But the K/itai (Chinese) have not reduced our 
cattle tax, fixed many years ago at 15 dachins (14d.) per head— 
they still take fifty taels a year off us, though there are no 
sheep. But we make no complaint, because though there is 
a good deal of cultivation we pay no land tax. If we attracted 
the Amban’s attention he might find out about the cultivation, 
* and then we would have to pay both land and cattle tax.’’ 

The fat Beg found a congenial spirit in the cheerful Hafiz, 
with whom he “ swapped lies ” uproariously far into the night. 
Next morning as we marched out of Pichan I happened to 
look round, and there were Hafiz and the Beg riding along 
arm-in-arm, with broad grins on their faces, each wearing the 
other’s hat. It was one of the funniest sights I have ever seen, 
Hafiz in the huge black lambskin Kirghiz cap and the Beg with 
Hafiz’ dopa perched like a Glengarry on the top of his vast 
head and face. 

There was plenty of good water at Pichan, but at our next 
halting-place twenty miles farther up among the bare hills at 
Qizil Eshma, we very nearly had to go without. A family of 
Kirghiz were encamped at the mouth of a small side-glen 
apparently just as dry as the main valley. The servants I 


AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 221 


sent up it to look for water came back saying that there 
was none for ‘“‘ two potais’’ (5 miles), only a spring high 
up among the mountains which they could not reach. I was 
not inclined to reload and toil many miles farther up the 
valley to the next halting-place, so I thought I would have 
a look myself. Half a mile up the side-glen the soil was 
damp, and a little farther I came upon a string of tiny pools. 
The flow was almost imperceptible, and a few yards further 
on the soil was again dry. But it was enough; we filled our 
buckets with sweet water, at the rate of about one per hour, 
and the animals were all watered by midnight. Evidently the 
Kirghiz (who were particularly shy at this place) had misled our 
servants and concealed the existence of the spring for fear lest 
we should drink up all the water and perhaps foul the supply. 

Our next camp was a pleasant one, at Qaragor Kul ten 
thousand feet up among the very tops of the gently-rounded 
grey-green hills. Here there are no springs at all; a certain 
amount of rain falls, judging by the grass which covers the 
land, but there must be something in the geological structure 
which prevents the formation of springs. On the other hand 
there are several shallow basins in which the rain-water 
collects; the Kirghiz camp with their herds of ponies and 
flocks of sheep and goats beside one of these rain-ponds until 
they have drunk it dry, when they pass on to another. 
Oaragor and its neighbourhood le within the jurisdiction of 
the Amban of Kelpin two marches to the south, an interesting 
place well off the beaten track which I would have liked to 
visit had there been time. 

Next day we crossed two passes and descended a long 
glen, past patches of our first Tien Shan firs, to the wide 
valley of the Taushkan (“‘ Hare’’) River. This stream, the 
main confluent of the Qum Ariq, which it joins close to Aqsu, 
breaks through from Semirechian territory, where it is known 
as the Kokshal. Its broad reaches and the snow-clad Tien 
Shan on its northern bank made a series of fine vistas for 
our delectation on the two marches to Uch Turfan. The soil 
of the valley is rich, and we passed through a series of 
picturesque villages, Somtash and Safarbai, Kok Oinak and 
Tusma, growing several kinds of root-crops, grain and lucerne, 
in the intervals between rocky ridges across which our under- 
sized pack animals scrambled wearily. 

Uch Turfan which we reached on 11th September is a small 
town charmingly situated among groves of planes and tall 


222 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


cypress-like poplars. A chain of curiously abrupt, craggy 
hills juts out from the black fantastically-fretted mountains of 
the Kelpin district, half-way across the broad valley. On an 
isolated spur of these, close to the town, is an old Chinese 
castle, still kept up and occupied by a small garrison ; for Uch 
Turfan is a frontier post of some strategic importance, com- 
manding the high and difficult but much-used Bedal Pass 
leading across the Tien Shan from Semirechia. The country 
round Uch Turfan is closely cultivated, the soil being, if possible, 
even more fertile than that of the great oases of the south. 
Here there are no villages, nothing but countless farms standing 
on their own ‘‘ small holdings,’ with fields well laid out be- 
tween rows of tall poplars and many timber-trees shading 
the farms. From the summit of one of the abrupt hills men- 
tioned above the view on a clear autumn day is superb. At 
one’s feet, gardens and vineyards, melon-fields and tobacco- 
plantations ; in the middle distance, the town with its massive 
walls embowered in greenery, watched over by the old castle 
on its crag ; all around, miles and miles of fields and trees and 
farmsteads in rich mosaic, almost perfectly flat, with rocky 
hills like islands rising out of the sea of green and autumn 
gold ; in the background, from west right round to north-east, 
the Mountains of Heaven in full array, furrowed deep with 
glens andrising in the north to Pelion piled on Ossa of eternal 
snow ; to the south and south-west, the fantastic dark-brown 
and black peaks and crags of the Kelpin mountains, tier beyond 
tier, each a little hazier and more mysterious than the last. 

I dined one day with the Amban and other officials in the 
gardens of Toqquz Bulak (‘‘ Nine Springs’’), a Chinese 
pleasaunce famous throughout Sinkiang. The springs from 
which the place takes its name gush from the foot of one of the 
rocky hills near the town ; there are well-tended gardens round 
them and a square pond lined with willows, into the midst of 
which juts a wooden pier. Anchored at the end of the pier, 
surprisingly, is a houseboat of the regular Thames or Kashmir 
type, containing a room fitted up as a dining-room with a 
kitchen and pantry off it; above, to complete the illusion, 
awnings and chairs and flowers in pots. One dines either in 
the houseboat or, if it is warm, in a summer-house on a ledge 
of the cliff above the pond. The Magistrate who entertained 
me, a Chinese Mussulman whom we were to meet again at a 
dramatic moment before we left Kashgar,1 was a great horti- 

1 See pp. 264-5. 


AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 223 


culturist and his beds of dahlias and chrysanthemums were a 
sight to behold; altogether, I found the gardens of Toqquz 
Bulak worthy of their reputation. One of the other guests, the 
Tungling or Commandant of the infantry, was of a type quite 
new to me. Tall, stooping, cadaverous, with bushes of hair 
sticking out all over his face, he looked remarkably un-Chinese 
and odd in his Celestial costume. When he addressed me in 
perfect Turki I was still further puzzled, and at the first 
opportunity I asked him who he was. He told me that he 
was a ‘‘ Wangzada!”’ or direct descendant of the native 
princes of Kucha,; called in Chinese Wangs or “ dukes.”’ 
It was the Wangs of Kucha, he told me with obvious pride, who 
had been mainly instrumental in destroying the power of the 
Chinese in Southern Sinkiang in 1863-4 when the Tungans 
revolted in Kansu ; Yakub Beg had come afterwards and had 
turned the Wangs out when they were weakened by their 
struggle with the Chinese. When the Celestials returned in 
1876 and regained the province from Yakub Beg they took 
over the lands of the former ruling family, but granted them 
‘ political pensions ’’ (as we should call them in India) in lieu 
of their lost dominions and offered them posts in the Army 
and Civil Service. Several of the younger Wangzadas, includ- 
ing my friend’s father, accepted service under the Chinese 
Government, which entailed adoption of Chinese customs and 
dress as well as language ; on his death many years ago his son 
had inherited the pension, 200 taels a month, and the command 
of a regiment of infantry. It was interesting to me, as a 
member of the Indian Political Department, to have an 
opportunity of comparing the methods of the Chinese and 
Indian Governments in their treatment of deposed native 
ruling families. 

In spite of his curious appearance, “‘ rather like a cross 
between a Skye terrier and one of the Minor Prophets ”’ as I 
irreverently described him in a letter home, the Tungling was a 
well-bred and intelligent old gentleman, and I enjoyed my 
talk with him. I heard afterwards that he was held in great 
respect by the Turki population, who always called him 
“ Khojam.”” The commandant of the Cavalry was a man of a 
very different type. He was a Chinaman, but a bad specimen 
of his race, sensual and repulsive. He showed a certain 
naiveté, however, which caused me no little amusement. By 


1 Zada is a Persian suffix meaning ‘‘ born from,” cf. shahzada (pro- 
nounced shahzda) ‘ prince.” 


224 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


mistake I failed to call on him at first, but rectified the omission 
after some broad hints. He surprised me in the middle of 
my call, @ propos of something quite different, by asking 
me if I ate pork. I said I did sometimes, whereupon he 
proceeded to explain that he had some very good pork in his 
larder and would have liked to give a dinner-party in my 
honour, but could not have pork on the table if the other 
two officers were invited as one of them was a Chinese Mussul- 
man and the other a Kucha Turki. As he could not offend 
the two latter by asking me without them, he thought he had 
better solve the problem by not having a dinner-party at all. 
Again, he explained that he would have sent round plenty of 
lucerne and grain for my horses, but he had heard that Ma 
Darin had already done so, and had therefore denied himself 
the pleasure. | 

It was at this time that I finally and reluctantly gave up 
a hope I had long entertained, of being able to make a dash 
across the Muzart Pass into the Ili district of Northern Sinkiang. 
The glory of Ili or Dzungaria is the Tekes Valley, considered 
by some to contain the finest Alpine scenery in all High Asia. 
This great valley—it is 200 miles long by 70 broad—is also a 
sportsman’s paradise. Besides bears and leopards and such 
ordinary game, it is the haunt of the Asiatic wapiti, the biggest 
stag in the world; of Ovis karelini, a wild sheep practically 
indistinguishable from Ovis poli in size and shape of its mighty 
horns ; and last but not least of the biggest ibex in the world.? 
Small wonder, then, that we longed to cast prudence to the 
winds and knock at the “windy gate of Dzungaria.”’ It 
could not be. The Muzart Pass takes a week to cross and is 
11,450 feet high, an elevation equivalent in the Central Tien 
Shan to about 16,000 feet in the Himalayas. Owing to its 
uncertain climate and heavy precipitation, it is only open from 
July to November ; moreover, it is defended by at least one 
bad glacier, and there are several difficult places. To have 
only three weeks clear in Ili, I would have had to add at least a 
month and a half to my already long tour-programme. The 
Kashgar Vice-Consulate had just been ‘“‘ axed ’’ on the depar- 
ture of Harding in July, and I found myself unexpectedly 
single-handed, with no British officer—no Britisher at all, in 
fact—within a month’s journey. Even if there had been 
sufficient official business to justify a tour in Ili, which there 


+ In 1925 Mr. Kermit Roosevelt picked up in the Tien Shan an ibex 
head measuring, I believe, 67 inches, 


AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 225 


was not, I could not remain away for four months, nor 
cut myself off from headquarters by a distance entailing four 
weeks’ hard travelling. 

To console ourselves for the abandonment of the Ili trip, 
we decided when I had finished my work at Uch Turfan to 
pay a visit to one of the steeply-pitched valleys of the Tien 
Shan to the north of the town. The Yangi Art Jilgha, in or 
near which we spent a week, had been explored by Merzbacher 
in 1903, but not, so far as I knew, visited since. It proved 
shorter.and narrower and its fir-woods smaller than I had been 
led to expect, but the scenery was wild and grand, with ice- 
clad peaks towering to heights of 17,000 and 18,000 feet all 
round. We were surprised to. find a Chinese military post 
consisting of the usual N.C.O. and seven or eight opium- 
sodden chiriks (soldiers) at the mouth of the main gorge. It 
appeared that the pass at the head of the valley, though very 
difficult and seldom free from ice, was used by opium-smugglers 
as an alternative to the Bedal Pass further to the west. The 
opium of ‘ Karakol”’ (the native name for the Przhevalsk 
district of south-eastern Semirechia) though inferior to the 
fine product of Afghanistan, fetches a good price in Aqsu, where 
the Chinese authorities are no more succéssful in preventing 
its sale than they are in Yarkand. I may mention here that 
neither the Amban nor anyone else in Uch Turfan believed for 
a moment that I had gone up the Yangi Art to shoot ibex. 
It was the thinnest story they had heard for a long time. 
There were two theories as to the object of our trip. One was 
that I was nosing out opium scandals with a view to reporting 
the goings-on of Chinese frontier officials to the League of 
Nations. The other was that I had arranged a meeting on 
the top of the pass with the commander of Bolshevik forces in 
“ Karakol,” with a view to a joint Russo-British invasion of 
Chinese Turkistan! The bazaar held the latter theory, 
but the Chinese official world evidently inclined to the former, 
as we soon found out. The night we arrived at the Yangi 
Art post the N.C.O. in command brought me a letter he had 
received by the hand of the yamen runner who accompanied us ; 
it was in Turki, which nobody at the post could read any more 
than they could their own language, so they appealed to us 
forhelp. The gist of the order was that the “‘ foreign consul ”’ 
and his party had gone up into the mountains to catch opium- 
runners, and that he, the commandant, must watch their every 
movement and on no account allow any smugglers to fall into 

15 


226 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


their hands! I had little difficulty in persuading the poor 
N.C.O. that he need not ‘‘ shadow ”’ me, promising him I would 
report to his superior officer that he had done his duty faithfully, 
after which the detachment not only gave us no trouble but 
helped us to the best of their ability. 

It was delightful finding ourselves among fir-woods and 
glaciers and alpine meadows once more, and we thoroughly 
enjoyed the few days we spent up the valley. D. baked 
scones and puff pastry on the grassy banks of ice-cold torrents, 
doctored the few inhabitants and, twenty-bore in hand, 
chased the elusive hill-partridge up minor precipices in charge - 
of Sangi Khan. As for me, I spent breathless hours after ibex 
on dizzy crags four or five thousand feet above our camp, 
accompanied only by a capable young Kirghiz shikari I had 
picked up, the image of a sturdy Scottish laddie of his class. 
Three days we spent finding the herd, and then I had only 
one day in which to get my shot, for I had to limit myself 
strictly as regards time. It was grand sport, that last day, 
though it ended sadly. By ten o’clock we were 12,000 feet 
up, and within a mile or so of the Russian frontier, hot on 
the tracks of the herd. Then suddenly, on rounding a diffi- 
cult corner on which concealment was impossible, we saw 
them—and they us. Off they went up the cliffs, and a minute 
later they were in sanctuary far above our heads. The rest 
of the day, except for a chilly hour for lunch, we spent travers- 
ing the mountain-face, mostly pitched at an angle of 60°, 
with a view to approaching by a wide détour the evening 
feeding-grounds of the ibex. They did not come down till 
nearly sunset, and it was past six before I got my one chance. 
Seven fine bucks with heads measuring perhaps 45-50 inches— 
not to be compared with the monsters of the Tekes Valley 
or the Altai, but bigger than anything I had got before. 
Within thirty yards of them I crawled on a horrible ledge— 
and then my rifle missed fire. Twice it clicked sluggishly, 
then unexpectedly went off; I, of course, in my agitation 
missed. There was no time for another shot—within a fraction 
of a second the herd were over the edge of the eyrie on which 
they had been browsing. Scrambling forward I just caught 
sight of them bounding thirty yards in their stride down the 
breakneck couloir far below. Afterwards a friend of mine, a 
mighty hunter, explained to me how it had happened. ‘“‘ Did 
you clean the oil off your bolt before the shoot ? ” he asked. 
““No? You weve a mutt. You ought to have known better. 


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AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 227 


Sunset in September 12,000 feet up—must have been freezing 
hard. Of course the oil froze and clogged your bolt. Wonder 
the rifle went off at all.” 

We were surprised to find a family of ‘‘ Sarts ” or ordinary 
Turkis sharing this small valley with the Kirghiz. Coming 
down from the ibex-ground one day I overtook them trekking 
down from their summer grazings, a pretty sight. On the 
opposite side of the stream a lean-visaged Sart shepherded 
a couple of hundred sheep and goats up an almost perpendicular 
cliff and along narrow ledges literally overhanging the torrent ; 
this was necessary because the current was too strong for 
short-legged muttons to cross. Behind, a quaint procession 
came filing down the track and splashed across the stream ; 
half a dozen mares with their foals, a man and two boys 
perched on masses of bedding on top of ponies, a neat smiling 
Sart woman with her baby and another man leading a camel 
piled high with the framework and felts of the family 
mansion. 

Descending to the plains once more, we camped two glorious 
days on wide meadows near the long yellow loess bluffs of the 
Taushkan River. A hundred and fifty miles of the snowy 
Mountains of Heaven sparkled in the sky to west and north 
and north-east of us. It was advisable to give the baggage 
ponies (we had hired new ones at Uch Turfan) and our own 
animals a day or two in clover before the next lap of our 
journey ; for we were to march 164 miles across the southern 
face of the Central Tien Shan and down the lower Muzart 
Valley to Bai on the Kucha road. 

We were sorry to leave the Uch Turfan neighbourhood 
and the lovely valley of the ‘‘ Hare River.’”’ We found the 
people delightful and quite unspoilt, especially the women. 
The latter, poor dears, seemed to be even more at a discount 
_ than at Kashgar ; not one in five appeared to have a husband 
' to herself, and they complained bitterly to D. of their hard lot. 
They came in streams to our camp among the meadows to 
“salaam’’ D. and beg medicines for blind, crippled, tuber- 
culous and otherwise incurable relations. And not one of 
them came empty-handed. All tried to pay D. for her medicine 
or advice in peaches, eggs, melons, cream, corn-cobs or some 
such agricultural product. And when she not only made them 
take back most of their ‘‘ widow’s mites”’ but distributed 
(as she always did wherever we went) little presents of buttons, 
imitation jewellery, safety-pins, pieces of muslin, beads and 


228 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


the like, their astonishment and gratitude were pathetic. As 
one of them exclaimed to D. on receipt of some buttons worth 
about an eighth of a penny ‘‘ There’s never been anyone like 
you this way before ! ”’ 

On 28th September we struck camp once more and marched 
35 miles over alternate oasis and desert to the right bank of 
the Qum Ariq River. Here we found ourselves in some of the 
most fertile country I have ever seen; it was the Beg of 
Taghak near by who, when I asked him whether I could get 
any maize, replied—“ In this country, Sahib, you can get any 
thing you like except chicken’s milk.’’ Meanwhile the hateful 
dust-haze of the Tarim Basin had closed down once more and 
swallowed everything up. Though we crossed the Qum Ariq 
River close to the mouth of the tremendous unexplored gorge 
by which it cuts its way through the Central Tien Shan, we 
could not see it nor the Savaktai and other magnificent peaks 
to the north. Knowing however, that in October the haze 
would not last long, we possessed our souls in patience. Fol- 
lowing a route roughly parallel to that taken by Stein in 1908 
we pitched our tents at a wild spot called [leklik on the Pakalik 
stream, about 25 miles north of Aqsu. Here and at Chigan 
Kotan, 5 miles to the north-east, I spent three or four days 
trying without success to get a shot at one of the wild sheep, 
smaller than Ovis karelint and apparently a separate variety, 
which inhabit the barren plateaux north of Aqsu. All this 
time the haze persisted. Then, on the very day we started on 
the last four marches to Bai, it cleared up and the magnificent 
snows of the Central Tien Shan revealed themselves in all 
their glory. 

What interested me most, apart from immense unmapped 
peaks and the vision of at least one glacier comparable in 
size with those of the Karakoram, was the belt of fir-forest 
which stretched along the whole length of the range at a 
height of about 8,000 feet. I could see that there was a zone 
of Alpine country several miles deep between the arid foothills 
and grassy uplands we were traversing and the snow-line of 
the main range. I noticed that the fir-forest never grew on 
the south side of the ridges, each of which showed merely a 
line of trees along its crest where the forest clothing its north 
slope ended abruptly. 

It was tantalizing to see this wonderful country and not be 
able to explore it. If we had known sooner what it was like, 
it might have been possible to do something. But it was 


AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 229 


late in the season and snow lay over all the alpine zone; 
moreover, the Begs of Pakalik and Tarlak, mountain villages 
to the north of us inhabited not by Kirghiz but by “ Sarts,” 
were not helpful. They evidently did not want us in their 
country and took as little trouble on our behalf as they could. 
I find a bitter entry in my diary on the subject, which I quote 
for the benefit of future travellers in this region. 

“Here, the one object of the Begs is to save themselves 
the trouble of finding you supplies and guides, even though 
you pay liberally for everything. They will tell you any 
lie and subject you to any inconvenience or disappointment 
to save themselves a littletrouble. In this country, never listen 
to what the Beg says about the best place to camp at—always 
choose your own place, and camp where convenient to you. 
If they want you to go on “just another potai,’’ beyond a 
pleasant camping-ground, late in the evening, don’t. If you 
are shooting and have found game, and they want you to 
move somewhere else where there is more game, don’t. The 
only people you can at all rely on in this country are the 
Kirghiz, and even they are not as trustworthy as those of the 
Qaratash Valley.” 

The Beg of Pakalik finally distinguished himself by not only 
failing to find us a guide but himself deserting us some miles 
east of Chigan Kotan. There was not a sign of human life as 
far as the eye could reach in any direction, and we had to steer 
by the sun and such landmarks as I could identify in Stein’s 
map. In the afternoon we struck the Terang stream for which 
I had been making, but there was not a habitation to be seen, 
nor any grass. We were just making up our minds to a desert 
camp without food for man or beast, when some one caught 
sight of a solitary man on a camel in the far distance, riding 
southwards. By great good luck he turned out to be a camel- 
herd in the employ of an old Andijani merchant of Aqsu called 
Abdus Sattar Haji, of whom I had heard as a well-wisher of 
the Consulate. The boy said that the nearest habitation was 
his master’s place at Yetim Débe up among the mountains to 
the north, and there he brought us safely after another seven 
hours’ steady marching. We should certainly never have 
found the way without a guide; for about five miles the path 
wound and twisted in a labyrinth of steep-sided red clay hills 
and then crossed a stiff little pass called the Jigda Bulak 
Dawan. I hada careful watch kept on the lad the whole way, 
for he was as lazy as every one else in that country and did not 


230 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


want to guide us, though I gave him money and promised 
him more. Once I thought he had given us the slip among 
the gorges of the red hills, but we found him again. It was 
half past eight and pitch dark before our ears were at last 
greeted by the welcome sound of dogs barking, and a few 
minutes later we were warming ourselves at a roaring coal 
fire in a cosy room at the Haji’s farm. The old man himself was 
not there, but his sons welcomed us most kindly and feast€d our 
men royally on mutton and maize bread. 

Next morning the air was clearer than ever, and we realized 
how attractive was the country into which we had stumbled 
blindly, as it were, the night before. The ranch—for the place 
corresponded somewhat to my idea of a South American 
estancia—lay in the midst of an immense sweep of grassy 
upland, above which to the north rose snow-clad ridges 
fringed with firs. That day’s march, from Yetim Débe to 
Qizil Bulak near the foot of the Muzart Pass, was one of the 
most enjoyable I have ever performed. Our guide, one of the . 
Haji’s sons, led us over one little pass after another, in and 
out of charming green valleys, some inhabited, others not, 
some clothed only with wild rose and barberry, others dotted 
with clumps of trees resplendent in gorgeous autumn tints, 
orange, russet, gold and scarlet. We lunched contentedly 
off cold partridge sandwiches and cake under a clump of desert 
poplars in the middle of a hay-field perched up on a hill-side 
opposite the snows ; a picturesque Sart woman gathered wisps 
of mown hay near by and loaded them on a quaint wheel-less 
bullock-cart. She was not in the least shy, and exchanged 
remarks with us the while. On this and the following day 
we enjoyed such sport after small game as I had never known 
before. I was accustomed in the mountains to the south 
of Kashgar to getting as many red-legged partridge on the 
march as I liked, with a few sand-grouse, pigeons and perhaps 
a duck or two thrown in; but never had I found myself in 
such a small-game shooter’s paradise as the southern valleys 
of the Central Tien Shan. Without straying a hundred yards 
from the road I shot (rz) red-legged partridge, (2) sist, a kind 
of very small and succulent partridge common in Baluchistan 
and Persia, but not seen by us elsewhere in Chinese Turkistan, 
(3) sand-grouse, (4) teal, (5) hares, (6) blue pigeons, besides 
which I missed an easy chance at a pair of those fine birds 
(7) imperial sandgrouse. I may mention here that on this 
tour altogether we came across no less than fourteen different 


AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 231 


kinds of small game, and that without going off the road. 
Besides the seven enumerated above, we saw, either in the 
mountains or in the jungles of the Tarim River valley, the 
following: (8) Shaw’s pheasant, (9) duck, including mallard 
pintail, gadwall, golden-eye, and red-crested pochard, (10) 
snipe, (Ir) woodcock, (12) geese, (13) plover, (14) Tibetan snow- 
cock. Of these I shot specimens of all except woodcock 
and Tibetan snow-cock. The former we saw at Maralbashi 
flying through a garden; the latter I came across in large 
numbers at I1,000-12,000 feet while stalking ibex up the 
Yangi Art Jilgha. 

Of many pictures that live in our memory of that delightful 
march, perhaps the most vivid is of the shrine of Qara-sakal 
Atam, ‘‘ My Father Blackbeard.’’ It is situated in the love- 
liest little glen imaginable. A limpid stream plashes down 
through open meadows from the fir-clad ridges of the Central 
Tien Shan, until it joins the main valley through a narrow 
neck between two backbones of reddish rock. Just above this 
neck is a coppice of fine old mountain ashes and desert poplars 
enclosing a glade of smooth turf and a bubbling spring. 
Barberry bushes, now a mass of carmine berries, and the 
brilliant orange-yellow of the trees in their autumn finery 
blend perfectly with the rich russets and ochres of the sur- 
rounding rocks ; looking northwards, the grassy steppe sweeps 
right up to the distant forest above which again tower the snow- 
clad Mountains of Heaven. Father Blackbeard’s shrine is 
only a bunch of sticks, festooned with votive rags and embel- 
lished with the horns of wild sheep ; but whoever he was and 
whenever he lived, he is marked as having been a saint of 
taste—for did he not choose the most beautiful spot in all the 
Tien Shan to be his hermitage ? 

Two long but easy marches down the open and partially- 
cultivated valley of the Muzart River brought us to the small 
town of Bai on the Aqsu-Kucha road. Here we found the 
Mir Munshi awaiting us; he had come out from Kashgar to 
help me with my work at Bai and Aqsu. Westayed four days 
at the roomy Chinese rest-house at Bai, most of which I spent 
interviewing various British subjects from Kucha, three 
marches further on. The town, which is the headquarters of 
a third-class Magistrate, is an undistinguished Sleepy Hollow of 
a place, populated by Turkis and Chinese Muhammadan 
Tungans in the proportion of about three to one. It was 
our first experience of the latter race en masse, and we were 


232 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


not favourably impressed. For Asiatics—I do not judge them 
by our lower Western standards—most of the Tungans we 
saw were remarkably bad-mannered. Whenever either of 
us tried to buy anything in the bazaars, either at Bai or at the 
New City of Aqsu, great louts of Tungans would stand round 
and exchange what were obviously comments on our appear- 
ance and behaviour, bursting every now and again into loud 
guffaws. We were not very sorry to leave Bai, though we 
greatly regretted that time did not permit of a visit to the far 
more interesting and important town of Kucha. 

The 107 miles vid Abad to Aqsu Old City occupied five days. 
Our first halt was at the flourishing village of Yaka Ariq on 
the right bank of the Muzart River. The main road for the 
next 50 miles lies almost entirely over barren and uninteresting 
country, so we left it and made due westwards for the curious 
red hills of Abad, among which I had hopes of another chance at 
the wild sheep. Camping for the night at Ilkache, the last 
oasis of the Muzart Valley cultivation, I rose before dawn and 
spent a long morning scouring the hills, but saw only several 
herds of antelope. Meanwhile D. and the caravan struck 
camp at a more reasonable hour and marched to a low pass 
among the hills appropriately named the Topa Dawan or 
“Dusty Pass,’ where I met them at midday. It was here 
that we made a new and most picturesque acquaintance, 
the Kirghiz headman of Qara Bulaq, Hushur Beg. As I 
approached the ‘‘ Dusty Pass ”’ I saw the solitary figure of a 
man on a horse standing on the crest of a ridge. This proved 
on closer inspection to be a youngish Kirghiz with a high- 
cheek-boned, weather-beaten face, mounted on a shaggy little 
Kalmuck pony. On his right wrist, which was protected by 
a large white fleece gauntlet and supported on the saddle by 
a wooden prop, he carried a magnificent hooded gara qush or 
black hunting-eagle. This bird, I afterwards found, measured 
three feet from beak to tail and over seven feet from wing-tip 
to wing-tip ; it was a dull black in colour, with a ruff of rust- 
coloured feathers, yellow claws, black beak with yellow base 
and fine red-brown eyes. From the near side of Hushur Beg’s 
saddle dangled an object which puzzled me at first ; it proved 
to be the lure with which he attracted the bird back from 
wandering, and consisted of a large ball made of skin from the 
heads of antelopes. The Beg turned out to be a thoroughly 
good type of man and a real sportsman, very different from the 
lazy and untrustworthy ‘‘ Taghliks’’ of Pakalik and Tarlak. 





A KIRGHIZ BEG OF THE TIEN SHAN» WITH HIS HUNTING EAGLE [p. 232 





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AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 233 


He was passionately fond of hawking and “ eagling,”’ if one 
may coin the word; he used hawks for hares and other small 
game, eagles for antelopes and sometimes wolves. He told 
me he would not part with his favourite gara qush for a hundred 
taels, though it was very fierce and had more than once clawed 
him when hungry and rashly unhooded. I noticed that he 
held the string attached to its hood in his teeth, and that after 
unhooding it for a moment so that I could take a photo- 
graph of the two of them, he put the hood on again at once 
with his bridle hand. He pointed out to me the precipitous 
red sandstone cliffs above Abad where it had been netted as a 
fledgeling. 

He also told me about his hawks, among which he prized 
most a white one from the Altai. All over Central Asia these 
white hawks,1 which are exceedingly difficult to get, are highly 
prized, though their performances are not, I believe, in any 
way superior to those of ordinary falcons. They are occasion- 
ally brought from Ili to the Aqsu market, where they fetch 
from fifty to a hundred taels or more. Almost every year the 
Mehtar (Chief) of Chitral, the Mir of Nagar or some such 
potentate from the Indian frontier sends men up to Kashgar to 
try and buy a white hawk; as often as not the messenger 
returns empty-handed. 

Three days later we marched through the narrow and dirty 
but picturesque wood-and-mud-brick bazaars of Old Aqsu 
to the charming house and garden outside the western gate 
which had been placed at our disposal. We were pleased to 
find that our host was the same Haji whose ranch at Yetim 
Dobe had been such a haven of refuge to us in the Tien Shan. 
Buried in trees, just far enough from the town to escape its 
noise and dust, the country house of Abdus Sattar Haji was a 
pleasant place indeed. A couple of hundred yards to the 
north ran the long line of perpendicular loess cliffs, forty or 
fifty feet high, which bound the city of Aqsu on the north and 
east and evidently mark an ancient channel of the Qum Ariq 
River. Under the level rays of the setting sun the place gave 
the impression of a marvellous piece of theatrical scene- 
painting ; the tall white stems of the poplars and the rainbow- 
tinted autumn foliage blended perfectly with the warm grey- 
brown tones of the “ drop-scene ”’ of cliff in the background, 
and with the entirely medieval walls and massive gates and 
bastions of the town. 

1 Hierofalco altaiensis, Turki toighun. 


234 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


But the most curious feature of Old Aqsu appeared next day, 
when I found my way up one of the winding gullies of the 
loess bluffs. It is the extraordinary contrast between the 
two levels, between the land rendered fertile by irrigation 
from the Qum-Ariq below and the saz or gravel desert above. 
Below, as far as the eye can reach, stretches a rich, heavily- 
timbered champaign dotted with farms and seamed with 
irrigation-channels ; five minutes’ climb up one of the many 
clefts in the bluff, and you come out on to an absolutely 
empty desert. Except on those few days when the strangely- 
corrugated foot-hills and possibly the soaring ice-fields and 
glaciers of the Tien Shan appear like a vision in the north, 
half the circle of the horizon is a complete blank, without a 
bush or a mound to break its perfect smoothness. It is hard 
to believe that a few minutes ago you were in the midst of a 
landscape worthy of the brush of Constable or Corot. Some 
years ago an ambitious Amban sought to gain promotion by 
bringing a large area of this saz under cultivation to the south- 
east of the Old City. He spent 60,000 taels and much forced 
labour on deep canals and reservoirs and the construction 
of a small town of buildings connected with the new water- 
works. Everything was done with the utmost thoroughness 
and the scheme was most successful, except that the water 
would not flow along the canals, which had therefore to be 
abandoned. To this day the remains of the buildings and 
waterworks line the road to New Aqsu, clogged with drifts 
of fine loess dust and dwarfed to insignificance by the immense 
sweep of the desert behind them. 

In Mussulman countries the dead are not as a rule buried 
in earth that might support the living, and here too the 
uncultivable (because unirrigable) cliff-tops above the town 
are covered with domed tombs in seemingly countless myr- 
iads. A City of the Dead, in fact, with streets, squares and 
boulevards complete, overlooks the City of the Living as a 
perpetual memento mort. Looking up from the streets of the 
town, the domes of the cemeteries crown the bluffs at every 
point save one; only at the north-west end of the town the 
ruins of ‘“‘ Amir’? Yakub Beg Bedaulat’s fortress on one cliff 
and of his hospital on another, break the serried ranks of the 
tombs. Bedaulat, knowing no doubt that his day would not 
last for ever, built his citadel of unbaked brick, and little is 
left of it though it was abandoned but fifty years ago. The 
place used to be easily accessible to sight-seers, but the only 


AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 235 


two paths which led to the top were blocked up some time ago 
by the Chinese. It is still possible, however, to gain the 
citadel, if you knowhow. On the town sidea wave of mud-and- 
wattle houses surges up to within twelve or fifteen feet of the 
top of the bluff, and by trespassing on the owners and 
obtaining permission to use their roofs, it is possible to 
scramble from one rickety hut-roof to another and so reach the 
foot of a steep flight of steps cut in the clay. The ‘‘ Garden 
of Bedaulat ’’ is a table about fifty acres in extent almost 
entirely covered with the remains of mud-brick buildings and 
enclosures. The highest ground is occupied by the erstwhile 
‘““Amir’s”’ palace; below it is a flat rectangular area which 
contained the court-houses, treasury and other official build- 
ings, and the gardens. It is pathetic to trace faintly the 
lines of the flower-beds and lawns, and of the water-channels 
which fed them, now but a dead-white, clayey ‘‘ blanc of 
Nature’s works expung’d and ras’d.”’ 

From the bastion above what used to be the lock-up in the 
west corner of the fortress one looks across a little valley 
filled with trees and houses to the Golden Shrine, a lovely blue- 
tiled mazar standing among tombs and trees on another 
“table-mountain ”’ of loess. Beyond it again a further prom- 
ontory of cliff carries the picturesque Hospital of Bedaulat, 
which is in better repair than his other buildings because the 
Chinese still used it as an ordnance store for a time ; my efforts 
to visit this place, whence the best view of all Aqsu is to be had, 
were of no avail. 

Of all our glimpses of the varied life of Old Aqsu, Chinese 
and Turki, native and foreign, perhaps the funniest was a 
visit which D. paid to the home of an ancient Hindu bunnia 
(trader and money-lender) from Shikarpur in Sind who had 
lived in Old Aqsu for many years. His joy and pride at the 
arrival of his mai-bap (mother and father, i.e. ourselves) were 
intense and he constituted himself D.’s guide round the bazaars. 
In the course of their perambulations he took D. to his own 
home, a single small room in a sevat where he lived with his 
portly Turki wife. The old lady evidently had not expected so 
distinguished a visitor, for she was in déshabille, engaged in 
cooking her lord’s dinner. Portions of strange foods were 
hurled into a corner and D. was seated on a rug with a cup of 
tepid tea; then, making her lean old husband squat on the 
floor between herself and D., Mrs. Bunnia without further ado 
took off her kitchen clothes behind this very insufficient screen 


236 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


and emerged later with her portly form arrayed in a new 
white muslin dress and a green striped jacket. D.hadas much 
difficulty in not witnessing her hostess’ toilet as she had in keep- 
ing a straight face while making polite conversation to her host. 

The fertility of the soil and the cheapness of living in Aqsu 
district are amazing. Agricultural labour costs 24d. per 
diem, and the price of land is on an average less than a quarter 
of that at Kashgar. <A jing (20 lbs.) of maize costs 4d.-5d., 
wheat 6d. and rice 7d. Fruit and vegetables are as plentiful 
and cheap as the cereals. The grapes we had were the finest 
I have ever tasted; the two best kinds were an enormous 
‘“‘lady’s finger ’”’ and a smaller seedless grape with a rose-red 
flush on it, sweet and strongly-flavoured. The former, which 
sold at 23d. for a bunch weighing r4 lbs., were so big that I 
took one at random from a bunch and measured it; its cir- 
cumference lengthways was four inches, round the “ waist ”’ 
two andathird. In a/field close to Abdus Sattar Haji’s house 
I was astonished to find one day about half an acre of ground 
literally carpeted with fine melons ; on inquiry I was told that 
there were 15,000 there, and that they were the larger 
part—not the whole—of the crop raised by a cultivating 
lessee of some of the Haji’s land. The man told me after- 
wards that he had paid 100 taels (£13 6s. 8d.) rent for the land 
and water and had spent 80 taels (£10 13s. 4d.) on seed, labour, 
etc. He had already sold 5,000 in the Aqsu bazaar, and ex- 
pected to retail the whole 20,000 at an average price which 
worked out at slightly less than a penny apiece, netting 
approximately 360 taels or 200 per cent. on his outlay! It 
must be confessed, however, that we found the Aqsu melons 
inferior to those of Kashgar, though succulent enough according 
to our English ideas. They had nothing at Aqsu to compare 
with the ambrosial ‘‘ Beshak Shirin”’ of Kashgar. 

The garden near the New City to which we moved on 23rd 
October belonged to the Russian Aqsaqal, another Andijani 
merchant ; it contained an even finer show of fruit and flowers 
than Abdus Sattar Haji’s. There were two immense per- 
golas measuring together about a hundred yards under which 
one strolled and munched the above-mentioned rose-pink 
seedless grapes almost without the trouble of putting one’s 
hand up. The Tao Tai of Aqsu Circle! and other officials 

1 This includes Uch Turfan, Bai, Kucha, Shahyar, Bugur and other 


districts of the lower Tarim River valley with its tributaries, but 
not Maralbashi, which is in the Kashgar Taoyinship. 





DHE City OF THE DEAD, OLD AQSU 





AN AQSU SMALL-HOLDER’S MELON-CROP;, 15,000 MELONS READY FOR MARKET 





AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 237 


were most friendly and hospitable, so that we felt quite at home 
in the so-called New City, which looked as if it dated at least 
from T’ang times. The bazaars were not as picturesque and 
interesting as those of the Turki town and were too full of 
Tungans to be pleasant, but the environs of the New City and 
the shady banks of the winding Qum Ariq were a continual 
delight. 

A favourite haunt was the Chinese (Taoist) temple of the 
God of the White Cloud. It is not an old place, but its shady 
grove and quiet courtyards are wonderfully pleasant and 
peaceful. It was founded by a bygone Commandant of the 
Aqsu garrison and was repaired, improved and endowed a 
generation ago by a devout Tao Tai called Peng. The God of 
the White Cloud communicates with his followers, or did 
so until recently, by means of divine writing, which curiously 
enough used to be done by a sort of planchette. I was shown 
this by the friendly custodian of the shrine. It consists 
of a wooden board with one leg only, the place of the second 
and third legs of the planchette being taken by handles which 
are held on each side by the mediums. There is also a large 
Square wooden tray on which is sprinkled the sacred sand in 
which the planchette writes, and big high-backed uncomfort- 
able-looking chairs on which the God and his divine associates 
sit, invisible, at the séances. Facsimiles of the God’s writings 
hang on the walls ; it was pointed out to me that the strength 
of many strokes was more than mortal, and certainly the 
piety of the sentiments translated to me from them was 
unexceptionable. It is a most unfortunate coincidence that 
since the departure twelve years ago of the two Tientsin 
merchants who acted as mediums, the God has vouchsafed no 
calligraphic messages to his flock. It would appear, indeed, 
as if he had no flock nowadays, for no worshipper seems ever 
to visit the temple except on the official holy days, when 
by order of the Governor the Taoyin and other officials 
attend service; only the old priest potters about, dusting 
a joss-stick tray here and a painted-cloth lamp there, clanging 
the temple bell and beating the great drum at the appointed 
times and occasionally, with loving reverence, changing the 
written prayers in the frames which stand before the god. 
The courtyards are grass-grown, but clean; the little square 
garden behind the temple is a tangle of vines and thick under- 
growth of poplar, but the two picturesque wooden pavilions it 
conceals are in good repair and the shrines in them are care- 


238 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


fully tended ; the “‘ guest-room ”’ off the middle courtyard is 
crudely decorated with aniline-dyed embroideries and rugs, 
but it is always kept ready for the mighty Visitor who never 
comes. 

Though it is unfrequented, though it represents a dead 
faith, the shrine of the God of the White Cloud at Aqsu is an 
abode of peace and reverence, very different from the filthy, 
tawdry travesty of a temple which is all that Kashgar can 
boast. 

* Xk * ** * 

Our farewell to Aqsu was perhaps the most trying. and, in 
retrospect, comic of all our ‘“‘ public ’’ departures from Central 
Asian towns. By way of acknowledgment of the hospitality 
we had received, I somewhat rashly presented the Tao Tai 
with a fine Wiltshire ham which had lately arrived from Eng- 
land. This put the coping-stone on our popularity, and 
word went round among the officials that we were to be 
‘seen off’? in proper Chinese style. Seeing a person off in 
China apparently means turning up to tea on the morning 
of his departure and delaying his start as long as you can. 
Next morning at 9.30, just as I was superintending the loading 
of our ten new baggage-ponies, a yamen runner arrived with 
the news that his master the Amban was coming to call. In 
vain my protests—two minutes later enter the Amban with 
the usual herd of Begs, interpreters, policemen and hangers-on 
of all kinds. JD. leapt out of the back window just in time, 
with instructions from me to see the rest of the ponies loaded 
- and escape when she could; I said I would follow as quickly 
as possible. Tea and cakes were produced from somewhere 
(by the gardener, I think), and I sat down to an hour’s chat 
with the Amban. Half an hour later the ponies were all 
loaded and D. was just pushing them off down the narrow 
lane which led to the main road; suddenly, more cries and 
clatterings, a fanfare of bugles and the Tao Tai with a follow- 
ing twice as big as the Amban’s came charging up the lane. 
A stampede ensued ; half the loads came off, the ponies mixed 
themselves up in each other’s ropes and the courtyard became 
Pandemonium let loose. Smiling blandly, the Tao Tai passed 
through it unscathed in the midst of his henchmen and added 
himself to my tea-party within. It took D. and the servants 
another half-hour to restore order and refix the loads; then 
off they started down the lane once more. As they did so, 
another Chinese cart swung into it at the other end, followed 


AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 239 


by a troop of cavalry atasmart amble ; it was the Commandant 
of the Garrison, also coming to see me off. The carriers 
tried to turn the ponies back, but D.’s patience had long been 
exhausted and she would have none of it ; urged by her cries 
the ponies and our mounted servants charged down the lane 
and after a short tussle bore back the Commandant’s carriage, 
escort and all, out into the dusty high-road. Fortunately 
the gallant officer was too much under the influence of opium 
to be quite aware of what was happening; fortunately also, 
no other dignitaries came to see me off and I escaped an 
hour later after the most cordial adieux. 

D. had quite recovered her equanimity when I caught her 
up after a sharp ten miles’ canter. She had been lucky 
enough to witness a most picturesque spectacle on the road. 
A caravan of some two hundred camels carrying raw wool from 
Kucha to Kashgar happened to leave Aqsu the same morning 
as ourselves and to be crossing the Qum Ariq River just as 
D. overtook it. The huge, shaggy animals with their bulky 
loads were tied in strings of eight, each string as usual led 
by a man on a donkey } and the whole caravan chiming with 
a regular carillon of bells. At the ford the Qum Ariq runs 
in four broad channels of varying depth; it was as good as 
a play, D. said, to watch the strings of camels, each guided 
by a yelling carrier perched on the top of the leading animal’s 
load, zigzagging painfully across one channel after another. 
The donkeys, cool and sensible as ever (nobody who has 
travelled in the Lands of the Sun makes the mistake of think- 
ing the donkey a stupid animal) swam across by themselves 
without fuss, while the big fierce-looking Kalmuck watch- 
dogs barked furiously as they splashed around. To complete 
the picture, three big Chinese travelling carts coming from 
Maralbashi with a minor official and his household on board 
met the camels in mid-stream and made confusion worse 
confounded. I had a talk with the carriers later in the day. 
They told me that the wool belonged to Kucha sheep-farmers ; 
the camels came from the Bai district, and had been hired at 
the rate of 8 taels (21s. 4d.) each; fifty days had been allowed 
them under the terms of their contract for the whole journey, 


1 Mongolian and “ Bactrian’’ camels travel more steadily if they 
are led by a pony or donkey; the latter animal is more commonly 
used for the purpose as its pace is practically the same as a camel’s. 
I did not notice this custom in South Persia, where the single-humped 
Arabian camel is used. 


240 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


and they expected to reach Kashgar within a month from 
Aqsu. 

For 112 miles after leaving Aqsu we traversed the perfectly | 
flat plain to the north of the Tarim River jungles, within sight 
of, though not actually along, the famous “‘ Silk Road ”’ first 
organized by the Han Emperor Wu-ti in the second century 
B.c., for the transport of Chinese fabrics to the Far West. 
At an average interval of 15 miles there are halting places 
with poky little native serais and sometimes a slightly better 
Chinese rest-house. Each place has a small bazaar of shanties 
and stalls in which the people of the settlement, or of the 
nearest oasis, sell food for man and beast. At Chilan, 57 
miles from Aqsu, we found ourselves in Kelpin district again ; 
we noticed here a remarkable improvement in the facial type 
of the people, the women being remarkably handsome with 
regular, almost Greek, features. 

The two Chinese troopers deputed by the O.C. Aqsu to 
escort our caravan as far as Maralbashi caused us much inno- 
cent amusement. One of them was comparatively bright 
and helpful; indeed, except for the fact that he could not 
fire his carbine, the bolt of which was tied on with a red 
handkerchief, and that he never mounted his horse without 
the assistance of a wall at least three feet high, he was quitea 
useful cavalryman. He had obviously never heard a shot 
fired in anger ; whenever I shot a bird in his presence, or even 
fired my gun, he became wildly excited, laughing and clapping 
his hands like a child. But he was at any rate alive; his 
brother in arms, on the other hand, was the most miserable, 
opium-sodden wretch I ever saw, even in the Titai’s army. 
We stood him as long as we could, for the sake of the O.C. 
Aqsu’s “ face,’’ but the limit was reached the night we came 
to Yaka Kuduk. The march from Chilan was a moderately 
long one, and D. and I cantered ahead in the afternoon so as to 
arrive before dark, expecting the caravan to come in about 
seven o'clock. To our discomfort, it did not arrive till half- 
past eight. We questioned Hafiz. ‘‘ Sahib,’ he replied, with 
an apologetic grin, “‘it was the opium-smoking chirvik. Last 
night he finished all the opium he brought with him, and this 
afternoon he asked us forsome. We had none, and he became 
very angry. Just after sunset he fell off his horse, and we 

+ The Chinese military road ran along the foot of the Kelpin Tagh 


a few miles to the north-west of the present route (Stein, ‘“‘ Ruins 
of Desert Cathay,” Vol. II, p. 427). 


AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 241 


had to pick him up and put him back on it. After a time 
he fell off again, and his horse became frightened and kicked 
off its saddle and upset the baggage-ponies, and they stampeded 
all over the jungle and many loads came off. It took us a 
long time to get the caravan started again. As the chirtk 
could not sit on his own horse I brought him in across my 
saddle-bow.”’ 

At the next stage, Chadar Kul, we found ourselves among 
Dulanis, the same cheerful, dirty, good-looking, quarrelsome, 
disreputable, singularly attractive race whose acquaintance 
we had made in the spring at Merket. Once more we chafed 
under the attentions of hordes of male sightseers, once more 
we marvelled at the beauty of cherubic but incredibly dirty 
children. Just outside the village we passed two large parties 
of gamblers, almost all men, dicing under the trees; in the 
bazaar their wives were minding the shops and doing what 
little work is done in a Dulani village. The Tarim river 
jungles, which here began in earnest, held great numbers 
of ‘‘ Shaw’s pheasant,’ magnificent birds with plumage of 
flame-colour shot with purple and tail-feathers barred with 
black. The sport, indeed, in this neighbourhood was almost 
too good ; besides the woods full of pheasants, the ponds and 
marsh-lakes swarmed with duck and teal, which had evidently 
just arrived on their way south. At one place the wild duck 
actually came and sat on the village pond, eighty yards from 
the back of the rest-house in which we lodged. 

At Tumshuk, forty miles east of Maralbashi, we left the 
main road and struck southwards for about twenty miles to 
a lonely shepherd’s cottage on the south bank of the Tarim, 
where we spent four most pleasant and restful days encamped 
in a little grove of desert poplars among the melon-beds. 
Pheasants, duck, teal and other game abounded, while the 
brushwood-covered flats were a perfect Zoo for wild life of 
all kinds. 

It was a charming place in the bright autumn weather ; 
the blue river wound close by; to the south rose abruptly 
from the plain another of the curious ranges of hills which 
are peculiar to the neighbourhood ; within a mile or so lay 
two beautiful fresh-water lakes, one of them ten miles long and 
two broad, reflecting in their glassy waters here the crags of 
the Choka Tagh, there the mighty dunes of the Takla Makan. 
For we were on the very verge of the great desert ; it was 
beyond those very dunes that Sven Hedin lost all his camels 

16 


242 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


and all but one of his men from thirst, and was with within 
an ace of perishing himself. 

I was interested in the shepherds who lived at the cottage. 
There were three brothers with their families, the men being 
in the employ of one of the Maralbashi Begs, Abid Beg. For 
herding and shearing their master’s sheep they received one 
fleece in ten; out of this wool they made ropes and sacking 
which they bartered at Maralbashi for flour and cloth. They 
also trapped foxes and netted fish, which in this river are 
large and quite good eating. Finally, they grew melons, of 
which they sold more than they ate. The soil, being salt, 
was good for melons but for no other crop. The three brothers 
had at first formed a joint family, but had afterwards ceased 
to do so owing to quarrels. They continued to live together 
at the farm, but whereas formerly they had owned three 
cocks in common, now each family owned one cock, and so on. ~ 

Recrossing the Tarim on 7th November we marched to 
Maralbashi, camping on the way at the foot of the highest 
and boldest of the miniature mountain-ranges of the district, 
the Mazar Tagh. Outside the town we were received most 
kindly by our friend the Russian-speaking Amban whom we 
had met at Merket, Chiu Da-heng. We stayed in the garden 
of the British Aqsaqal, a venerable Chitrali merchant ; here 
pheasants came to feed every morning and woodcock flitted 
among the trees, for the charm of Maralbashi is in the proximity 
of the Tarim jungle, the wild life of which hems it in on all 
sides. Near by the dying Kashgar River flowed sluggishly, 
its waters destined to be spent in cultivation ere ever they 
could join the Tarim. On its bank stood a charming little 
tiled and whitewashed mausoleum built by our host in memory 
of his father. 

We were guests at the Yamen more than once, and there 
had an opportunity of studying at close quarters some fine 
specimens Mr. Chiu kept of the peculiar swamp deer of the 
country. The stag we saw was distinctly larger than the 
average Scottish red deer and its horns were longer, smoother 
and more slender; its snout was long with a narrow, thin 
muzzle. In colour it resembled the red deer, except that its 
tail was light brown instead of dark. The hind was also big- 
ger than her Scottish counterpart. There was also a fawn, 
a delightful, little animal with a thick, dark brown coat. 

For the five marches between Maralbashi and Kashgar 
(145 miles) we were lucky in having perfect weather. The 


AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN 243 


only incident worthy of mention was a most exciting wild-pig 
shoot which we had at Ordeklik among the thick tamarisk 
jungles. Halfthe village came out on foot or horseback, accom- 
panied by dogs, and carrying bludgeons made of tamarisk shoots 
with heads the size of cricket-balls carved out of the root of 
the bush. I made them drive a long stretch of jungle and was 
lucky enough to secure with my rifle an enormous pig, on the 
succulent hams of which we and the entire Russian colony at 
Kashgar afterwards feasted. The pigs do a great deal of 
damage to the crops of the Ordeklik people, who hunt them 
with their dogs and clubs most pluckily. 

During the ‘‘ Indian summer ”’ of mid-November in Central 
Asia the clearness of the air is extraordinary. From Lungkor, 
half-way to Kashgar, we saw plainly the snows of the Qungur 
range, more than 120 miles away, rising above the south- 
western horizon like icebergs from the desert sea. Though 
we reached Kashgar as late as 16th November, it was still 
pleasantly warm, nor was there any sign of ice on the marsh- 
lakes ; yet a fortnight later the land was in the grip of winter 
and the ice on the lakes was a foot thick. 


CHAPTER XV | 
UNDER THE NORTHERN RIM OF TIBET 


N the spring of 1924 official business along the south-eastern 
road once more demanded my personalattention. Leav- 
ing Kashgar on 1st March and spending a busy fortnight 

at Yarkand, we reached Keriya on 12th April after short halts 
at Posgam, Karghalik, Goma and Khotan. On the way home 
we broke new ground between Keriya and Khotan and again 
between Khotan and Karghalik ; but on the outward journey 
we used the same direct caravan route which we had already 
twice traversed, and I will therefore confine myself as far as 
Keriya to a few passages from diaries and letters. 


Yarkand, 7th March, 1924. 


On the wide grassy plain south of Yangi Hissar this morning we 
overtook a caravan of camels carrying Tashkend sugar and Baku 
oil from Kashgar to Khotan, They were fine shaggy brutes and as 
impressive as camels always are when you see them in long strings 
filing across the wide spaces of the earth. But what marked this 
caravan among all I have ever seen—or heard—was its music. Never 
was there such a carillon of bells as that which rose to heaven from 
this slow-moving train of unmusical-looking antediluvians. There 
were loud bells and soft bells, big clanging bells and little bubbling 
bells, high-pitched bells and low booming bells and cracked bells, 
double bells one inside the other, copper bells from Kashgar and iron 
bells from Toqsun far along the road to Mongolia. Some of these 
latter have as clappers—what do you think? Camels’ bones. I 
bought one the other day as a curiosity. There is something grimly 
pathetic about the idea of camels padding week after week, month 
after month, across Asia with the bones of their predecessors tinkling 
in the bells at their necks. 

We had a really brilliant day for our ‘‘ triumphal entry” into Yarkand 
with about a hundred British subjects of all kinds and religions mounted 
on more or less unmanageable ponies behind us. Yarkand as a whole 
took the utmost interest in our arrival, for it had been rumoured that 
we had gone back to India and that a former incumbent of the post 
had returned, I was amused to hear a woman in the bazaar say to 
a friend as I rode past Bulturki Consul shu (This is last year’s 
Consul), 


244 


UNDER THE NORTHERN RIM OF TIBET 245 


10th March. 


The new Commandant of the Yarkand garrison is of a type that 
is new to me, for unlike all the officials I have met hitherto he is a 
native of Sinkiang, though pure Chinese. His forebears, he tells me, 
have been in the military service of the Urumchi Government for six 
generations, i.e. ever since the last reconquest but one, in 1758. Inci- 
dentally, he is about as un-martial-looking a person as can be imagined ; 
but he has had quite a varied and interesting career none the less. 
He has been to Manchuria and Moscow; he has been on expeditions 
against brigands in wild Kansu ; he was once staff officer to a general 
who was banished to Sinkiang for implication in the Boxer rising. 
But perhaps his most unusual job was when he and two other “ wei- 
yuans ”’ (officers on special duty) were detailed to take 500 Kalmuck 
horses from Urumchi to Peking as a present to the great Yuan Shih- 
kai. I asked him whether the whole number arrived safely after 
the 2,o00-mile journey, mostly across the desert? ‘‘ Oh, we lost a 
lot,’’ he replied, ‘“‘ but we had a big margin and delivered the 500 
all right.’”’ I thought of the Hami melons they used to send to the 
Emperors, and reflected how the methods of the Chinese resemble 
natural processes in their disregard of waste. 


t1th March. 


Last night the missionaries and ourselves were the guests of ex- 
Taoyin Chu at a Chinese dinner-and-theatre party at the Tientsin 
merchants’ club. In China you do not go to the theatre after dinner, 
as we do; the theatre comes to you during it. A large courtyard 
had been roofed over with cloth for the occasion; on one side was 
a temporary stage, on the other a dinner-table set for about twenty 
persons. The place was filled to overflowing with hordes of Chinese 
attendants, clerks, interpreters, soldiers, policemen and bottlewashers 
of all kinds, behind whom crowded Turki hangers-on, street-urchins 
and other sight-seers. Several delicious children of Chinese guests 
were present; the prettiest was an exquisitely made-up little girl 
dressed in embroidered red silk with a wonderful ornament in her hair 
consisting of a butterfly in jewelled enamel and bright green Yunnan 
jade, with a quivering aigrette of fine gold wire spraying downwards 
from it. There was also a tiny boy dressed like a miniature mandarin 
in a fur-lined black satin jacket and black silk skirt, surmounted 
by an absurd green Homburg hat, who planted himself solidly in the 
middle of the narrow open space between our table and the stage and 
stared solemnly at the players for a long time. His back view was 
that of an exceptionally fat Amban about two feet high, one of the 
funniest sights I have seen for a long time, 

For nearly six hours we sat at the big table while course after course 
of a full-length Chinese dinner came and went, and a travelling com- 
pany of Chihli actors performed play after play opposite us, Except 
for its inordinate length, the entertainment was quite an enjoyable 
one, and most interesting. On the Chinese stage all the parts are 
taken by males; the characters speak in a curious and very ugly 
kind of falsetto sing-song, the voices of the “‘ actresses ”’ differing from 
those of the actors only in being shriller and more strident. In the 
classical plays, which form the majority of the repertoire, the chief 


246 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


personages, Emperors, Courtiers, Generals and the like, wear magni- 
ficent embroidered cloaks surmounted by vast fantastic head-dresses 
and masks. A feature of some of the pieces was the acrobatic dancing. 
The evolutions performed by the acrobats and the speed of their move- 
ments on the small and crowded stage, especially in the battle-scenes, 
astonished us. The most extraordinary dance was that of four very 
stout Generals in one of the old war-plays. They came on wearing 
wonderful cloaks, masks and enormous pagoda-like erections on their 
heads, at the back of which rose a kind of trophy of four small flags. 
These vast grotesque figures danced like two-year-olds, the flags behind 
their heads waving wildly in the breeze. Their ordinary walk, too, 
was inexpressibly comic; it was a kind of goose-step, and every now 
and again for no apparent reason they would stand for several seconds 
on one leg with the other held out horizontally in front of them, toes 
upright, the body perfectly straight and leaning well forward. How 
they could stand up at all in such a position was a mystery; they 
must have had some sort of Little Tich shoe-attachment, cleverly 
concealed. 

At these “command ”’ performances it is customary for the actor- 
manager to put on plays from his repertoire (they all seemed to be short, 
about the length of an average curtain-raiser) according to the wishes 
of the chief guests, who are expected to reward him liberally for the 
compliment. A long red paper scroll is brought round inscribed with 
the names of the plays, from which you choose yourfancy. We foreign 
guests had, of course, to rely on the Consulate interpreter, C., to 
tell us the titles of the plays; D. and I chose classical war-pieces, 
Mrs. L., of the Swedish Church Mission, one about brigands which 
she thought would be exciting. It was, but not quite in the way 
she expected. It proved to be highly improper—the only improper 
play we had the whole evening, and also, I am sorry to say, the most 
popular. The “ gallery,” of course, thought that the foreign lady 
had chosen it on purpose. They approved highly of her taste and 
kept looking round at her with delighted grins to make sure that she 
did not miss any of the points, especially during what was apparently 
a most realistic imitation by the leading “ lady ”’ of a Chinese nautch- 
dance. What made matters worse was that C., who is immensely 
proud of his command of the language, in spite of furious winks and 
head-shakes from me, insisted on explaining in a loud voice exactly 
what was happening and which of the female characters were no 
better than they should be. It was most embarrassing and we were 
all covered with confusion. 

Another of the “ classical’”’ plays, which was also about brigands 
but not in the least risqué, had the following plot. Robbers kidnap 
the Governor of a province, and a band of public-spirited citizens 
determine to rescue him by means of a ruse. Dressing up as a troupe 
of actors in full rig, with swords and clubs concealed under their 
costumes, they drive in carriages through the mountains in which the 
brigands have their fastness. The carriages and horses are represented 
by an amusing convention; the occupant of the “ carriage’ holds 
a pole horizontally in each hand by his side, the fore ends of the poles 
being held by a boy who prances in front of him representing the horse, 
the rear ends by a much-padded ‘“‘ coachman ” who walks sedately 
behind. This gives much scope for comic relief; the “ horse” jibs 





KASHGARI FISHERMEN AT WORK IN A CANAL [p. 59 





ON TOUR IN THE PLAINS; OUR CARTS STARTING OUT FROM A CHINESE REST- 
HOUSE 





UNDER THE NORTHERN RIM OF TIBET 247 


and bolts, the driver falls off the “box” and the carriage upsets. 
The supposed actors are duly captured and dragged off to the brigands’ 
lair. Here they are made to play and dance for the amusement of 
the Chief, who is a magnificent sight in his voluminous yellow em- 
broidered robe, huge black and red mask of appalling ferocity and 
head-dress of immense size and complexity. At the psychological 
moment the actors throw off their cloaks and draw their weapons ; 
a battle-royal ensues in which the Chief of the Brigands, fighting for 
his life, lays about him in the most approved style. Eventually the 
rescue-party defeat the robbers, take their Chief prisoner, and escort 
the Governor back to his capital in triumph. During the last half- 
hour of this performance the noise made by the orchestra passed all 
bounds. The musicians were specially reinforced by men with brass 
trays and large solid cymbals which they clashed and banged until 
I, for one, felt as if they were performing directly on my nervous 
system. D. said afterwards that hers, especially in her feet, was so 
numbed by cold and the absorption of thirty odd courses of shark’s 
fin, sea-slug, etc., that the noise scarcely affected it. We eventually 
escaped with difficulty at midnight, having been there since a quarter 
past six; the theatre was still in full swing and the children were still 
looking on. Wonderful people, the Chinese. 


Zanguya, 30th March. 


Two rather interesting persons were in possession of the rest-house 
when we arrived and courteously turned out to make room for us. 
They might be called ‘“‘ Sino-Turkis,” for they are Muhammadans 
of Khotan who for the sake of preferment have adopted Chinese man- 
ners, speech and dress. I asked them round to tea and made them 
tell me all about themselves in their native Turki. One of them 
said that he had been sent to the Chinese school as a child (doubtless 
by ambitious parents of the Beg class), and at the age of twenty-five 
or so had been selected by the Amban of his district (Lop) out of 
twenty-seven candidates to represent it on the Provincial Council 
at Urumchi; ‘“ Doumalik”’ he called himself, explaining. The 
Council or ‘‘ Douma” of Sinkiang is an advisory body summoned 
by the Governor, the members of which are theoretically representa- 
tive of the people, one from each administrative district, but are really 
nominated by the Ambans; they sit for a fixed term of three years. 
Our friends had been much impressed by their time at Urumchi and 
spoke with bated breath of the capital and its ruler; the process 
of Sinization has evidently been complete. The men impressed me 
favourably ; their manners were perfect and their speech cultivated. 
One of them in particular, Rajab by name, was most intelligent and 
looked a thorough gentleman with his neat, short black beard and 
moustache, black velvet cap trimmed with marten-skin and black 
satin fur-lined Chinese clothes. He said he was on his way to Kar- 
ghalik where he had been appointed “‘ Suloya”’ or chief of police ; 
his friend was going to Goma in a similar capacity. 

It seems that Chinese dress is essential for all Turkis who are 
candidates for Ambanships. But I notice that these men’s costume 
is not purely Chinese; like the designs on Khotan embroidery and 
carpets, it is a mixture of Mussulman and Chinese. They wear the 
Turki tumdaq or cap, as well as the diek and kafsh-massi or Russian 


248 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


boots and overshoes of Kashgar. Besides Wang Tungling of Uch 
Turfan, I have heard of two or three other cases of Sinized Turkis 
holding office. Not long ago I met a Bai man of the same type who 
was passing through Kashgar on his way to the Pamirs as a wet-yuan 
to inquire on behalf of the Urumchi Government into the complaints 
of the Sariqolis against their Magistrate. Then there was a Mussul- 
man Amban of Kelpin who was relieved of his appointment quite 
recently after two or three years’ tenure ; he was nota success, I believe. 


Zawa, 1st April. 

We have been lucky in having perfect weather at this time of year 
for the crossing of the sandy belt between Zanguya and this place. 
We might have been caught in one of the sandstorms (Turki burvan) 
for which early summer is notorious in these parts. Harding had 
a most unpleasant time in one last May. Whole caravans have been 
lost on this section of the road, missing the track in a storm and 
wandering out into the Takla Makan, where the water is 200 ft. or 
more below ground-level. For centuries the track has been marked 
every hundred yards or so on the worst bits by “ basket potais ’’ or 
curious elongated baskets about four feet in length placed on end 
and filled with sand. It is wonderful how long these last and how 
the baskets, or remnants of them, remain in position even when upset, 
as they usually are; stone posts would have sunk into the sand long 
ago. There are also of course the ordinary “ potais’”’ or towers of 
mud-brick at intervals of ten Chinese /4 (24 m.) which are, or ought 
to be, found along all main roads; these make excellent landmarks. 


Khotan, 7th April. 


The fast of Ramazan began a few days ago, and is rather a trial 
to us as well as to the greedy Turkis. They miss their food in the 
daytime ; we miss our sleep at night. Badruddin’s house where we 
are staying has a fine garden at the back, but the house itself is in 
the middle of the bazaar and we get the full benefit of the turning 
of night into day which marks Ramazan in the towns. The walls 
of the houses are merely lath and plaster and sounds travel through 
them like paper. The whole town seems to be talking at once until 
nearly midnight, when the chief meal of the 24 hours is cleared away. 
Then at 2.30 a.m. the drums begin beating to awaken the Faithful 
for the preparation of the second meal of the night. These tom- 
toms are dreadful; they go on for an hour or more, varied only by 
the monotonously-chanted refrains of the singing dervishes. From 
four onwards the whole town is wide awake and busy either cooking, 
talking or intoning the sahvi or prayer of dawn. Add to this the 
normal early-morning noises of Kashgaria, cocks crowing, donkeys 
braying, birds twittering, pigeons cooing, cows lowing, horses neighing 
and stumping about in their stalls... . If one’s blood is well oxy- 
genated, as it is on the march, one listens to this sort of thing for an 
hour or so and sleeps the rest of the night soundly enough; in a town 
this is not so easy. 


Lop, 8th April. 


WwW , Amban of this district, is a refreshingly unconventional 
official. Last year when he was late at the wayside tea-drinking 





UNDER THE NORTHERN RIM OF TIBET 249 


he explained that he had been cooking our lunch; and an excellent 
lunch it was, with a minimum of sea-slugs and other atrocities and 
plenty of well-cooked pilaus and roasts. This time owing to an 
interesting event—the arrival of his ninth daughter—on the very 
day we came, we were let off both the arrival and departure tea- 
drinkings, a great concession. Usually as cheerful as could be, W. 
greeted me later with a long face and his right hand raised with the 
forefinger bent in the shape of a hook, which I understand is the 
Chinese finger-language sign for “nine.” He appears to have had 
a most anxious time about his wife this morning, not so much because 
she was unconscious for two hours, but because of her fury when she 
came to and found she had given birth to a ninth daughter, having 
had no sons. 

We have a fellow-traveller in Lop to-night whom I would very 
much like to meet, only I fear he will be starting very early to-morrow. 
He is a young man of 22, known as the ‘‘ Gong Amban”’ or “ Gong 
Beg.” He is the great-grandson of Niaz Hakim Beg, last of the 
indigenous rulers of Khotan, who like Taj Hakim Beg of Kashgar 
and Durgah Beg of Yarkand was shorn of his power by the Khoqandi 
upstart Yakub Beg “‘ Bedaulat” in 1864 and finally reduced to the 
position of a political pensioner by the Chinese when they came back 
in 1877. The present Gong Beg, I am told, receives a pension of 
400 taels (£46) a month in return for which he is supposed to be always 
ready to assist the Chinese with a contingent of men in case of need. 
The interesting thing is that he received orders from Urumchi a short 
time ago to proceed to Aqsu with five hundred men. The poor boy 
was horrified, as he has never shot so much as a sparrow in his life 
and could only find twelve retainers to go to Urumchi with him. As 
one would expect, he has no influence in Khotan—the Chinese see 
to that—and all he has been able to do is to raise 5,000 taels from various 
sources with which to buy himself off at Urumchi. He and his party 
are not travelling by the usual route along the Khotan River to 
Shahyar and Kucha, but by the very trying eastern route via Cherchen 
and Lop Nor. I cannot understand why he is doing this, especially 
with the hot weather coming on. Something is happening in the 
north, I can’t make out what; ex-Taoyin Chu at Yarkand received 
sudden orders a fortnight ago to proceed at once to Aqsu, and the 
Pamirs garrison has also suddenly been sent to the same place. 


Besh Toghvaq Langar, 9th April. 

Once more we are in the midst of desert sands. The Khotan oasis 
never looked so beautiful as it did this morning when we said good- 
bye to it for a while soon after leaving Lop. The tender mist of spring 
rested upon fields along the very verge of the dark-grey wastes of 
gravel desert, pale green where the wheat was sprouting, emerald 
for the young lucerne. Over the road drooped gracefully the long 
fronds of the weeping willows, trees which in the Khotan oasis grow 
to a size undreamed of in England. Tall flame-shaped poplars and the 
ubiquitous pollarded willow of Kashgaria marked the boundaries of 
every plot. But we had no eyes for green when on all sides glowed 
peach-blossom of every shade from rose to delicate shell-pink, set off 
here and there by the luxuriant foam-white of the quince-orchards. 
On the trunk of every tree hopped and tapped and peeped at us a 





250 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


pretty kind of woodpecker I have not seen elsewhere; it is larger 
than the English bird and has a scarlet crest, black and white bands 
on its wings and scarlet again under its body and tail. 


Keriya, 13th April. 


We had a welcome diversion on the long and rather dreary march 
between Achma and this place yesterday. In the middle of a belt 
of sandy steppe 20 miles wide we were suddenly accosted by a weeping 
peasant woman and her son, a sturdy shepherd boy, who informed 
us that their hut close by had just been robbed. The father, it ap- 
peared, had gone to market, and two thieves had seized the oppor- 
tunity to come and loot the few pots and pans the poor folk possessed. 
The lad, who seemed plucky and intelligent, had run after the thieves 
and thought they had dumped the booty somewhere among the reeds 
and would come back for it. He pointed out the direction in which 
they had gone. Without a moment’s delay I, my three orderlies, 
the Beg who accompanied us and his servant charged off helter-skelter 
across the steppe, spreading fan-wise as we went, while D. and Murad 
Qari remained on the road comforting the lady. It was bad going 
and the horses floundered about among dunes and patches of long 
grass, but before we had gone a mile there was a hurroosh on my 
right and a view-holloa from Hafiz; two running figures could be seen 
dodging among the dunes, and off we went after them in full cry. 
My horse went head over heels in a bad bunker, so that I was not in 
at the death, but when I came up there were two hulking scoundrels 
in custody of the Beg. After some prevarication they confessed that 
they had robbed the poor woman, so we tied their hands and dragged 
them back to the road where they were duly identified by the de- 
lighted boy. At first they refused to say where the booty was, but 
threats of the Amban’s wrath soon prevailed upon them to show us 
where they had hidden it in the long grass. It was pathetic—a 
couple of battered copper tea-pots and a small basin, all black with 
the soot of years, and a dilapidated old blue quilted coat with brass 
buttons, evidently the absent bread-winner’s only change of clothes. 
We visited the poor woman’s home near by, a couple of tiny huts 
more than half underground and roughly roofed with reeds and turf. 
Here I photographed the scene and the entire caste, together with 
the properties, and then the woman fetched us a jug of water from 
a neighbouring spring by way of hospitality. Poor thing, she could 
do nothing but weep and quaver ‘ Ashkalla! Ashkall-la!’”’ (thank 
you) and try to embrace D., whom she evidently looked upon as her 
deliverer and sole refuge among all the rough men who surrounded 
her. We took the robbers off with us, trotting at the stirrups of 
Hafiz and the Beg, and made a present of them to the Amban of 
Keriya. They turned out to be real bad characters who had been 
convicted of robbery a year previously and had been punished with 
a thousand stripes and banishment to Cherchen; it had not been 
known that they had already found their way back from that remote 
spot. The Amban, I amsorry to say, did not seem quite as grateful as he 
might have been. Perhaps it was tactless of us to catch his robbers 
for him—the preservation of a Chinaman’s “ face” is a difficult and 
delicate matter, not to be lightly meddled with by the Western barbarian. 


UNDER THE NORTHERN RIM OF TIBET 251 


Boghaz Langar, 17th April. 
How we Took the Pelican to the Wilderness. 


The pride of the Yamen here is, or rather was until yesterday, a 
full-grown pelican which’ was caught straying near the town and 
presented to the Amban two months ago. Yesterday I somewhat 
rashly showed an interest in the bird (I had no idea they were found 
in these parts) and tried to take its photograph, whereupon to my 
dismay the Amban presented it to me on the spot. I refused and 
refused, I protested that we were going back through the mountains 
with pony transport and could not possibly carry the huge bird, but 
without avail. When a Chinaman really wants to unload a present 
on you, he is adamant and makes it impossible for you to refuse it 
without hopelessly blackening his face. Accordingly, the same evening 
the pelican appeared at our house, escorted by two infantrymen carry- 
ing the Amban’s red visiting “‘ card.” 

What on earth were we to do? We could not take the poor beast 
with us on top of a baggage-pony, nor could we without cruelty to 
both parties insist on the Mir Munshi taking it with him in his Chinese 
cart by the main road. At first we thought we would send it with 
one of our servants on a cart specially hired ; accordingly the local 
carpenter was set furiously to work constructing a strong and roomy 
wooden cage for him. Then we found that the pelican had to be 
forcibly fed; he either would not or could not swallow any food, 
even fresh fish, unless three strong men rammed it down his throat 
and kept it there by force majeure. The Yamen soldiers told us that 
they had been doing this the whole of the time they had had the 
bird. They gave us a demonstration, and the process was so unpleasant 
and so obviously cruel that we decided then and there that the pelican 
must be returned somehow or other to its proper place—the wilderness. 
But how to effect this without the Amban hearing of it? We were 
starting the very next day for Polu and had a 20-mile march in front 
of us; time was very short. Far into the night we cogitated and 
schemed, and finally we made our plan. Next morning I sent word 
to the Amban that I would not be leaving till about noon, as I had 
work to do; this was to prevent the Amban going out to his farewell 
tea-drinking too early. I then borrowed the Mir Munshi’s cart, 
swearing him to secrecy, and arranged that the pelican in its cage 
should be put on it at the same time as the rest of our baggage was 
loaded up. The cart, in charge of one of the orderlies, Niaz (also 
sworn to secrecy), would leave with the caravan so as to put the hosts 
of inquisitive Keriya sightseers off the scent; at the first opportunity 
it would cut down a side-lane and double back by devious paths until 
it struck the Cherchen road to the east of the town, where D. and I 
would meet it. Having found a secluded spot among the marshes 
two or three miles along the road, we would liberate the pelican and 
return quietly to Keriya, whence we would make our official departure 
in due course. 

The plan did not work without some alarming hitches in its initial 
stages. First of all it was found that the cart could not be brought 
up to the door of the Aqsaqal’s house (which is in the middle of the 
bazaar) because the lane was too narrow. The cage with the pelican 
in it had therefore to be carried down to the main street. Then it 


252 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


was found to be too big to go under the hood of the cart. Tableau ! 
There was nothing for it but to leave the cage behind and put the 
pelican into the cart by itself. This was done under D.’s supervision 
(I was busy with case-work and farewell interviews in the house) to 
the delight of the crowd. Our hopes that the pelican would be able 
to leave Keriya incognito were thus frustrated. Off went the caravan 
along the Polu road, D., pelican and all. Half an hour later, having 
ascertained that the coast was clear, I slipped out with Hafiz and 
galloped by a roundabout route to the ford across the Keriya River 
on the Cherchen road; here I overtook D. and the cart, which was 
jogging along with Niaz on guard in front and the curtain carefully 
drawn behind him as if it concealed my harem. We passed many 
country-people, families coming in to Keriya market from Oi Toghraq 
or Niya, wood-sellers driving donkeys loaded with faggots and so 
on; I wondered what they would think if they knew what was in 
the cart. Beyond the last fields of the oasis a shallow valley among 
grassy dunes led to the main river-bed half a mile to the north. For 
once we blessed the dust-haze of the Takla Makan which veiled our 
movements from afar. Loitering until a favourable moment when 
no passers-by were in sight, we dived off the road down the little valley, 
the lumbering vehicle pitching and swaying like a ship in a storm. 
Turning a corner we appeared to be absolutely in the wilds and were 
just congratulating ourselves on having shaken off all possible wit- 
nesses, when there on the top of a hillock were two boys watching us. 
Strong measures were necessary. I knew only too well that if even 
the smallest child saw us depositing the pelican in the wilderness, the 
bird’s fate would be sealed; it would be recaptured and either done 
to death or taken back to the Yamen, whence the Amban would un- 
doubtedly send it after us as lost property. ... I decided to give 
the boys the fright of their lives, so I galloped straight at them; they 
ran like hares, I pursuing, until we arrived together at the small farm 
where they lived. Here I informed an agitated mamma that if she 
valued the children’s lives she would send them to bed and keep them 
there. 

Fate now smiled on us and we found that we could take the cart 
right down to the edge of the marshes. Here we took the long-suffering 
pelican out of “ purdah.’”” It was worth all our toil and anxiety, 
and more, to see the beatific expression on his face when he found him- 
self once more on his native heath. On the grassy edge of a clear pool 
he stood proudly with his poor clipped wings outspread, as if offering 
thanks to the pale sun for his new-found liberty. But we could not 
leave him in too open a place, and so Niaz and I carried him down 
a secluded channel among the marshes and deposited him where no 
enemy would find him, safe from the Yamen and its forcible feeding, 
safe from the spying urchins of Keriya.... And there we hope 
he will find a living among the frogs and minnows until kindly Nature 
has lengthened his clipped feathers (already half grown), so that he 
may spread his wings and fly away northwards, far over the Takla 
Makan to the untrodden solitudes whence he came, 


Before returning to Khotan we treated ourselves to a long- 
anticipated holiday trip among the Altun Tagh or ‘‘ Mountains 


UNDER THE NORTHERN RIM OF TIBET 253 


of Gold”’ which form the northern rim of the Tibetan plateau. 
Our first objective was the hill-village of Polu, three short 
marches south of Keriya ; thence we proposed to visit the oases 
along the foot of the Qaranghu Tagh or Mountains of Dark- 
ness, that wildest and most inaccessible central section of the 
Kunlun which rises in the great massif of K 5 to a height of 
23,890 feet. The trip proved somewhat disappointing, for 
the hateful dust-haze persisted and we saw little along the road 
beyond our immediate surroundings. Only once, for a short 
hour or two, did the veil lift. Nevertheless the journey was 
interesting in the extreme and on the whole enjoyable. Very 
few explorers had visited this secluded bay beneath the northern 
ramparts of Tibet, and the region may certainly be classed 
among the remotest and least-known inhabited corners of 
High Asia, outside Tibet itself. 

The village of Boghaz Langar, at which the last of the 
above extracts was written, is the southernmost village of the 
main oasis of Keriya and lies at a height of 5,150 feet above 
the sea, or 700 feet higher than the town. Close by we visited 
the famous shrines of Imam Ghazz ’Ali, one of the heroes of 
local Muhammadan tradition, and of a lady known as Bu 
Hanifa. The placeis remarkable for its plane-trees of immense 
age and bulk, veritable mountains of ancient wood, gnarled 
and monstrous like boulders in a torrent-bed. Next day we 
marched up the left bank of the Keriya River, passing one or 
two small isolated oases, and camped at a point 6,500 feet 
above the sea where the stream cuts through the foothills in 
an almost straight canyon 300 or 400 feet deep. It was a 
curious camp; though our tents were pitched fifty yards from 
the edge, the river could be neither seen nor heard and we 
seemed to be in the middle of a bare rolling moor of sand and 
scrub. Every drop of water for man and beast had to be 
brought by hand in buckets and gourds up a terrifying cliff- 
track known only to the guides we had brought with us. 
Next morning the haze was thicker than ever and we could 
see nothing of the massifs of the Altun Tagh, 21,000 feet high, 
which we knew impended over us at a distance of scarcely 25 
miles. For hours we toiled up sandy tracks, new reaches and 
abysses of the river-gorge coming dimly into view at each corner. 
I was impressed by the quantities of drift-sand everywhere ; 
even at this height the whole hill-side seemed to be silted up 
with sand blown from the distant Takla Makan, in marked 
contrast with the approaches to the Kashgar Range which we 


254 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


knew so well, four hundred miles to the north-west. At mid- 
day we were met by the friendly people of Polu who had 
pitched for us a tiny tent made of sacks on a cliff-top 800 
feet above the river-bed. With the indefatigable hospitality 
of remoter Asia, they had brought all the way from Polu, 
several miles further up among the mountains, an enormous 
meal of boiled sheep, bread, tea and hard-boiled eggs dyed 
bright blue, the favourite colour of Khotan.? 

Polu is the largest of the hill-villages at the western end of 
the Altun Tagh or Mountains of Gold, a branch of the Kunlun 
stretching for a thousand miles to the E.N.E. until it merges 
with the Nan Shan. The relative importance of Polu is due 
to the fact that it commands the only possible track leading 
up over the Kunlun to the northern plateau of Tibet and so 
to Ladakh and India. The defiles on the north side of the 
pass are exceedingly narrow and almost, if not quite, impossible 
for pack transport of any kind; but for a distance of 530 
miles, from the Hindu Tash Pass (17,750 ft.) over the Sanju 
range in the west to the Qarasai gap above Cherchen in the 
east, there is no other path at all by which men can cross the 
tremendous barrier of the Kunlun. Polu is picturesquely 
situated at a height of 8,500 feet on a ridge between two 
branches of the Keriya River’s chief tributary. Its fields are 
lined with tall poplars and dotted with clumps of fine planes 
and walnuts. The village consists of closely-packed, flat- 
topped houses of wood and stone with curious raised skylights 
in the middle of the roof, and has a look of Baltistan or Tibet 
which differentiates it at once from the settlements of the hill 
“ Sarts ’’ and Kirghiz of the Kashgar Range and the Tien Shan. 
Stein thinks that there may be Tibetan blood in the people, 
and certainly they do not regard themselves as belonging to 
the same race as the people of Khotan and Keriya. Polu 
and neighbouring villages do not belong to Keriya district, 
as one would have expected ; they are grouped with Imamlar, 
Chakar, Hasha, Nura and other oases of the great ‘‘ bay ”’ 


1The word k6k (blue) is often used in Khotan as a synonym for 
“ beautiful,’’ without conveying any particular colour. I heard a 
minstrel sing: 
Sat buida tort tufak 
Tortildrst kok tufak. 
Four heifers on the desert’s edge 
And all four of them blue (i.e. lovely) heifers. 
The reason why the shells of presentation eggs are always coloured 
is because white is unlucky, being the colour of death and mourning. 


UNDER THE NORTHERN RIM OF TIBET 255 


of the Kunlun into the ‘“ Begship of the Three Hundred Hill 
Families,’’ which is under the jurisdiction of the Amban of 
Chira. The people of Polu complain of this arrangement, for 
Chira is twice as far from them as Keriya. They told me 
however, that whereas they have always been assessed at ten 
families only, they number about eighty, so that their cultiva- 
tion is taxed very lightly.1_/ They are industrious cultivators, 
raising crops of barley, millet and lucerne on every available 
yard ; but the dryness of this part of Asia is such that even 
here, right under snowy mountains 21,000 feet high, crops 
have to be carefully irrigated. There are two methods of 
irrigation in use; where the slope is slight, the fields are 
terraced in the usual manner; where it is steeper, the entire 
surface is covered with a key-pattern of channels about six 
inches deep, down which the water trickles over the whole field, 
a most laborious business. The chief industry, however, 
is stock-raising ; though they look barren enough, the uplands 
in this neighbourhood grow excellent grass, owing probably 
to the fertility of the aerially-deposited loess which is found 
at the very highest elevations and gives a slightly dirty tinge 
even to the eternal snow. An excellent type of hill-pony, 
shaggy but better-looking and with finer hair than the Kalmuck 
ponies, is found here together with a black and very woolly 
breed of donkey; I bought one of the former for 32 taels 
(£4 5s.) and it turned out one of the best hill-ponies I have 
ever ridden. ‘‘ Polu pony ’”’ as we always called him, besides 
being strong and willing, was a remarkably intelligent little 
animal and took in everything that was going on. On the 
long bare plateaux of Poma Qir and Chata Qir west of Polu 
we saw herds of yaks and camels as well as the ubiquitous 
sheep and goats. 

An industry which would be of greater importance locally 
than it is, if the Chinese did not strictly control it and limit 
the output, is gold-washing. Thereisno doubt that gold exists 
in large quantities throughout the length, not only of the Altun 
Tagh but of the whole Kunlun system. I heard of gold- 
washing high up among the almost inaccessible gorges of the 
Upper Yarkand River; Stein mentions it at Pisha in the 
Qaranghu Tagh (Central Kunlun),? and speaks feelingly of 


1 This agrees roughly with what Stein heard at Chakar (“ Serindia,”’ 
pp. 1320-21) ; that the number of families in the Begship was assessed 
at 221, but amounted in 1907 to 1,802. 

2“ Ruins of Desert Cathay,’”’ Vol. II, p. 210. 


256 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


the appalling conditions under which the gold-miners work 
in the Zailik valley, 13,500 feet up among the peaks to the 
south-west of Polu; the well-known mines of Surghak and 
Chizghan, 60-85 miles E.S.E. of Keriya, employ 2,000 labourers 
even under the Chinese system. Gold is continually being 
found in new places between Chizghan and Tunhwang in 
Kansu province, 700 miles eastward. I heard at Keriya of 
three new mines, all rich, to which there had been miniature 
‘‘ gold-rushes ’’ during the previous two or three years. All 
the mines between Polu and Cherchen are under the control 
of the Amban of Keriya, who farms them out to a Beg for a 
fixed annual weight of gold-dust to be delivered to the Chinese 
at the fixed rate of 25 taels per tael weight, about five-sevenths 
of the average market price at Khotan. The Beg is not sup- 
posed to extract more than that amount from the mines, 
but of course he does. He finds, pays and feeds his own 
miners, whose numbers are augmented at Surghak by numerous 
convicts. The Chinese do not allow the local people to wash 
for gold except for the Beg, and as his total output is limited 
by contract he does not often give the inhabitants of a village 
like Polu leave to wash for him. As a special favour we 
were given a demonstration of the primitive methods used. 
_ Three boys crawled into a hole in the conglomerate bank of 
the Polu stream and passed out tray after tray of blueish 
gravelly earth ; a fourth washed it in a wooden pan shaped 
like a very shallow cone with a slit in it. From each trayful 
the boy got from two to seven tiny grains of gold, some red, 
some yellow; in a quarter of an hour he had washed out a 
quantity which he told us was worth a tenga (2d.) at the Beg’s 
rates. Ina day’s work, he told us, he would get anything from 
one-tenth of a tael to 10 taels worth (3d.-£1 7s.). 

The men of Polu are exceptionally friendly and hospitable 
to Europeans, a fact noticed by Deasy, Stein and the few 
other travellers who have come this way. The villagers still 
remember Deasy, though his visit took place as long ago as 
1897. The stable in which his ponies were kept is pointed 
out with pride, also the room in which stayed the Chinese 
ssu-yeh or secretary who was sent by the Amban of Keriya 
to watch Deasy and prevent him at all costs from finding the 
secret path over the Kunlun.? One of the bais or chief men, 
Tokhta Khalfa, told me with pride that it was his father, Rahim 
Khalfa, who really helped Deasy to cross the mountains. 

1 Deasy, ‘‘In Tibet and Chinese Turkistan,” p. 308. 


UNDER THE NORTHERN RIM OF TIBET 257 


He gave me a graphic description of how poor Qasim fell off 
the path on the way up to the pass and was dashed to pieces. 
He agreed with me that it was a little thoughtless of Qasim, 
on the edge of the path with a 100-foot drop behind him, 
to tighten a knot in a home-made rope by hauling at it with 
one foot pressed against the pony’s side. 

They offered us the pick of their houses, but we preferred 
to camp on a sheltered field under a low bluff of loess above 
the village. If only the air had cleared for an hour, the 
glorious snows which we could sometimes just descry far 
above our heads would have completed an unforgettable 
picture; but the haze was inexorable. In front of us the 
Tereklik (‘‘ poplar-y ’’) side-glen sloped steeply up; perched 
on a crag above it was a conspicuous shrine which I visited one 
day. Besides the usual sacrificial yak’s tails and pieces of 
clothing I found a curious and very old votive sign of wrought 
copper shaped like a hand-mirror with a fine pierced-work 
inscription. It reminded me of an object of similar shape 
and size, only with a chased design and inscription, which I 
saw at the shrine of Mir Umar at Sangun, under the Kuh-i- 
Taftan in the Sarhad district of Persian Baluchistan. How 
I coveted that votive sign! I would have paid quite a large 
sum for it ; but it has never seemed to me quite “ playing the 
game ”’ to tempt unsophisticated oe to part with things 
which they hold sacred. 

Four days we waited at Polu for the weather to clear, and 
then, on 24th April, we gave it up and started for Khotan. 
Marching three miles up the Tibet trail we struck westward at 
the village of Hong across the Chirikéldi (‘‘ The soldier died ’’) 
pass and the wide grassy tableland of Chata Oir. The morn- 
ing had been a little less hazy than usual, but by three o’clock 
as we descended into the valley of Zinjik Aral a violent storm 
of wind laden with dust and gravel and aspatter of rain swept 
down upon us from the Kunlun. Followed two unpleasant 
hours during which we hurried half-blindly down wild moor- 
land paths. Only one incident do I remember; under the 
lee of a steep hillside above us we saw three huge black eagles 
squatting on the rocks, gorged doubtless after some grim 
feast. D. put them up; fine birds they were, with dark grey 
ruffs, light brown heads with black round the eyes and black 
beaks. In this country as in the Tien Shan they tame these 
black eagles and hunt gazelle with them. In the evening the 
wind was still blowing strong when, after ten hours’ hard 

17 


258 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


marching, we came to the pleasant orchards of Jai Tuz at 
the upper end of the Imamlir oasis, scattered over a wide 
expanse of stony river-bed. 

That night the wind dropped and the stars shone out brighter 
than we had seen them shine for weeks. I was up early, full 
of hope, and I was not disappointed. Right across the southern 
sky, above the orchards of the Imamlar valley, above the 
great rolling downs of Buzang and Chata, above the rocky 
homes of the mountain people, stretched a wondrous pano- 
rama of eternal snow. Our prayers had been granted, not 
a day too soon; before us stood revealed at last the Kunlun, 
shyest and most elusive of the great ranges of the earth, the 
almost impassable barrier behind which lay Tibet. Between 
eight and half-past I took a telepanorama of five plates which, 
though far from perfect, is one of my most treasured pictures ; 
not because of its intrinsic beauty, which does not equal that 
of my Kashgar Range and Tien Shan panoramas, but because 
of the extreme rarity of the spectacle recorded. An hour 
later, the haze had reappeared, and by noon not a vestige 
of the snowy vision remained. 

From Imamlar we marched to Khotan in six days without 
undue haste. Though we did not see the mountains again, 
even the isolated massif of the Tikenlik Tagh (18,780 feet), 
across the wide apron of which we trekked for three days, we 
had some delightful glimpses of Arcadian villages tucked 
away in folds of the bare moorland. Nura was the loveliest ; a 
green island in asea of grey and yellow, six miles by two, with 
old wooden farms and mosques mirrored in clear pools, water- 
mills shaded by tall planes and orchards ablaze with apple- 
blossom, white and rose-red. On 27th April we entered the 
Khotan oasis south of Lop Bazaar and camped near the inn 
of Kutaz Langar (‘‘ At the Sign of the Yak ’’), where there 
isa domed tomb among desert poplars called the Shrine of the 
King’s Daughter who Died in the Flower of her Youth. Next 
morning we rode the 18 milesinto Khotan ina couple of hours. 

Two days’ halt was all that we could allow ourselves, for 
I was as usual behind my programme and the news from 
Kashgar was somewhat disquieting. Chinese troops were 
being concentrated at Aqsu in considerable numbers, and the 


1 See folding page of panoramas opposite p. 116. Marco Polo, who 
travelled vid Khotan and Cherchen on his famous journey to Cathay, 
makes no mention of any snowy mountains on his right flank, as he 
would certainly have done if he had seen the Kunlun or the Altun Tagh. 


18,810 


Y 


“ — — 


fine 


ARALLIK VALLEY 
NORAMA OF KUNLUN MOL 5 
Distance 16-24 miles. 


[Peaks identified provisionally from Sir A. Stein’s map, Survey of India Nos. 60 S.W. and 61 N.W.] 


S.W. 


SHIWATKE GROUP ~ 
SS W. 
N.W. (approx.) MURRA 5 : SaricH Yon (16,300) 19,400 III 20,500 17,700 mourR II (25,200) Quxcur | 
5 | ; 5 ; 
Y 


aa y y Y 


— ; 
a ee eee ere 


TELEPANORAMA OF TIEN SHAN PEAKS ON NORTH SIDE OF TAUSHKAN VALLEY, SEPARATING CHINESE TURKISTAN FROM SEMIRECHIA, FROM POINT 10 MILES N.E. OF UCH TURFAN SFT eR pda 
- : = ; “tee teh ts 2e is —24 mile Uprer TIGARMANSU JILGHA 

1 for und. loess bluffs on left bank of Taushkan River. Elevation 4,400 feet. Distance 31-34 miles f : eoES: A a Z 5 

be toregronmty Sos ee PANORAMA OF QUNGUR MASSIF, SHIWAKTE GROUP AND PEAKS OF VALLEY FROM POI 

TIGARMANSU JILGHAS 

Elevation 15,600 feet 








UNDER THE NORTHERN RIM OF TIBET 259 


Titai was reported to be arming. Could it be that the civil 
war which had been so long endemic in the inner provinces of 
‘China was now to spread to the Far West? Reluctantly I 
decided to curtail my homeward tour-programme and abandon 
a plan which I had long been nursing ; this was to climb one 
or more of the easternmost summits of the Sanju Range and 
reconnoitre from the north the untrodden gorges of the Qara- 
qash ! River, 60 miles long, which had baffled even Stein. But 
the prospect of a fourth journey along the well-beaten Pialma- 
Moji-Goma track did not appeal to us, least of all under what 
we fondly expected would be the grilling sun of May. We 
therefore decided to take the comparatively little-used upper 
road to Karghalik via Duwa, Sanju and Kosh Tagh and 
thus break ground that was new to us. 

On 3rd May at Zawa we bade farewell to the Kingdom of 
Jade and crossed the sand-hills of the Pigeon Shrine to lonely 
Takhtuban Langar, where the water is drawn from a well 
200 feet deep. Thence leaving the main road we struck south- 
west, reaching Lamiis in the Duwa valley late in the evening 
after a gruelling march of 36 miles. It was here that I visited 
the charming old Haji who narrated to me the local legend 
explaining the name of Lamus, recorded by me in another 
chapter.2 I shall never forget the scene in the central room of 
the Haji’s farm where Murad Qariand I sat sipping tea and talk- 
ing to the old man and his well-mannered sons. The family 
were evidently animal-lovers. A very fat white pigeon sat 
on the back of a Qur’an-stand and joined in the conversation 
with such loud cooings that we had to raise our voices to make 
ourselves heard. Animmense tortoiseshell cat purred furiously 
if anyone even looked as if he intended to stroke it. Best 
of all, a plump white lamb walked unconcernedly about the 
room throughout the proceedings, finally jumping up on 
the dais beside me and helping itself from a plate of raisins 
on the low Chinese table by my side. When lifted down it 
repeated the performance, the Haji remarking delightfully 
that the lamb had become his mihman (guest) as well as I! 

Resting a day at Lamus we performed another long march 
across the saz by Poski Langar to Chaskam in the beautiful 
Sanju Valley, where we halted another day for sightseeing. 
Then the weather changed and we had a most unpleasant 
march through Sanju Bazaar and along the main Leh-Yarkand 


1 Not to be confused with the Qaratash River in the Qungur region, 
SROee De Lok 


260 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


caravan-route to Sulaghiz Langar. Icy wind and torrential 
rain caught us unprepared on the top of a pass, and we had 
to gallop for it rr miles, only to find scarcely even the humblest 
accommodation available at the tiny settlement of Sulaghiz. 
Next day it was still cold and cloudy, but on 9th May when 
we marched to Oi Toghraq we were rewarded with the longest 
panorama of snows we ever saw, even in Chinese Turkistan. 
From the eastern end of the Sanju range they stretched 
in an immense arc to the northernmost peaks of the Takhta 
Kuram west of Karghalik, a glittering panoply of ice 180 
miles long. 

The rest of our return journey must be passed over quickly. 
Yarkand was reached on 14th May, and eight days later we 
were back at Kashgar, having covered a total distance of 
936 miles on the last and by no means the least enjoyable of 
our longer tours in Southern Sinkiang. 


CHAPTER XVI 
ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 


E returned from Keriya towards the end of May to 
\ ," / find Kashgar in a ferment of excitement. For 
some time past I had known that there was trouble 
brewing for our local ogre, General Ma, ‘“‘ Titai’’ or Com- 
mander-in-Chief of the forces in the south-west of the province, 
and self-styled King of Kashgar. Since the famous lunch- 
party of July 1922, described in Chapter VI, the situation 
had developed. The old bandit, drunk with power and firmly 
believing that there was no one in all Central Asia strong 
enough to call him to account, surpassed all his previous 
records in oppression. He robbed, blackmailed, mutilated, 
slave-drove and otherwise tyrannized over the unfortunate 
inhabitants of the New City and district to his heart’s content, 
snapping his fingers at the remonstrances of the Taoyin and 
other civil officials. Farmers and petty shopkeepers began 
to leave the country in large numbers nominally on pilgrimage 
to Mecca, but in reality to escape the tyranny of the 
** Padshah.”’ : 

The interesting feature of the Titai’s methods of self-enrich- 
ment was that they were not confined to those of the traditional 
Asiatic tyrant. There was a touch of the practical Chinese 
business man about him, for he did not content himself with 
merely transferring wealth from other people’s pockets to his 
own; he created it. He claimed all the minerals of the 
country as the perquisite of the military authorities, and 
exploited them for his own benefit. His coal and copper- 
mines, his oil-wells and refinery, his jade-cutting factory and 
other enterprises, brought him large profits. As a capitalist, 
his position was an enviable one ; for he enjoyed a monopoly 
not only of raw materials, but also of armed force with which 
to secure cheap labour and push the sale of his products. 

It would take too long to describe the various interesting 

261 


262 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


methods by which the unscrupulous General exploited his 
command. One illustration will suffice. The chief product 
of his shale-oil workings at Kanjugan, 30 miles west of Kash- 
gar, was kerosene, which was in great request owing to the 
failure of the Russian supplies. This he sold at monopoly 
prices to the public, including ourselves at the Consulate. 
But for certain by-products of the New City refinery, such as 
paraffin wax, there was little demand. Accordingly in the 
winter of 1923-4, the Titai conceived the idea of portioning 
out the two towns into wards and appointing certain Begs 
and other trusty henchmen to distribute so much paraffin 
wax per mensem to each shopkeeper, whether he wanted it or 
not, at a fixed rate. The cobblers, who used wax in their 
trade, had to take double rations. Very soon complaints 
began to be heard, which were eventually voiced by the 
Aqsaqal or headman of the cobblers. He petitioned the 
Titai to let the cobblers off taking any more of his wax, as 
they were overstocked, besides which they preferred bees’- 
wax. The Titai’s answer to this petition was to have the 
man beaten to death, and to fine his widow so heavily that 
she had to sell the house over her head to pay the fine. As 
might be expected, the underlings engaged in the distribution 
of the wax lined their own pockets liberally. They took to 
compounding with the shopkeepers at so much a head, and 
the forced sale developed into a regular monthly tax on shop- 
keepers. The distributors ceased to confine their depreda- 
tions to the towns of Old and New Kashgar and sent agents 
all over the districts collecting the wax gabelle from petty 
shopkeepers in the remotest villages. 

Apart from his industrial enterprises and his more direct 
methods of robbery and extortion, the Titai drew large sums 
from the Kashgar Treasury for the upkeep of the troops with 
which he was supposed to guard the frontier and garrison 
the towns. Needless to say, not a tenth of these sums was 
spent. The nominal strength of the Titai’s forces was between 
4,000 and 5,000; the actual number maintained may have 
been about 500. Most of these were quarter-trained, opium- 
sodden wretches who received neither pay, rations nor equip- 
ment, and lived on the country by virtue of the fear inspired 
by their terrible chief, and the antiquated (and in most cases 
quite useless) carbines they carried. But the Titai was. 
wrong in thinking that he could eat his cake and have it, for 
his Gilbertian army proved his downfall. 


ie 
S * 





AT 


PRAYER IN. THE GARDEN OF THE CONSULATE-GENERAL, 


LED BY THES CHIERSOAZI, 
KING’S BIRTHDAY RECEPTION, 1924 


MUHAMMADAN GUESTS, 


[p. 88 


KASHGARIA 


TITAT OF 


THE LATE GENERAL MA, 





ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 263 


In February, 1924, were heard the first rumblings of the 
storm. The reports of the civil officials and the petitions of 
the oppressed at last moved the Urumchi Government to 
action. Orders came from Urumchi, nominally emanating 
from Peking but really issued on the Governor’s sole respon- 
sibility, dismissing the Titai and abolishing his post. The 
General refused to give up the seals of his office and defied 
the Governor’s authority. At the same time, partly for 
purposes of bluff and partly in order to cut the ground from 
under the feet of those who accused him of maintaining a 
paper army, he hastily enrolled some hundreds of recruits 
and gave large orders in the bazaars for new uniforms and boots. 
Something had also to be done about the forced sale of wax, 
the most unpopular of all his impositions. The Titai’s pro- 
cedure was characteristic. He arrested eight of his own wax- 
distributing agents, charged them with collecting money from 
the people without his knowledge, and ordered their fingers 
and toes to be cut off joint by joint in the specially-constructed 
hay-chopping machine mentioned in a former chapter. Four 
of the men escaped or bought themselves off, the others were 
duly mutilated and exposed at the four gates of the city, 
their several limbs nailed to the wall behind them. One of 
the poor wretches had already died when I heard about this 
atrocity, but I had one of the others brought in by my orderlies 
and cared for by our Indian doctor ; the Swedish missionaries 
did the same for the remaining two, and all three eventually 
recovered. It may be mentioned that one of them was a 
faithful servant of the Titai’s who, when the latter’s great 
wooden palace at Pakalik caught fire three years before, 
rushed into the room in which his master lay in a drunken 
sleep and carried him out of the burning building. 

But the cup of the Titai’s iniquities was full. It will be 
remembered that on the road to Keriya I had heard of an 
ominous concentration of troops at Aqsu, 300 miles north- 
east of Kashgar. Information I received at Karghalik and 
Yarkand on the return journey showed that a considerable 
force had been collected and was shortly to march on Kash- 
gar under the command of Erh Taoyin of Aqsu, and that 
Ma Titai was the objective. On the morning of Sunday 
ist June, I had an early morning appointment some miles 
from the town, and was on my way back at half-past ten, 
when I was met by an orderly with a message from the Mir 
Munshi to the effect that there had been fighting at the New 


264 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


City and that the Titai was reported to have been killed. I 
galloped as hard as I could to the Consulate, where I found 
every one in a state of excitement except D., who was baking 
scones and cakes for the King’s Birthday garden party on the 
following Tuesday. All our eight orderlies were in uniform, 
wearing their revolvers—their only arms—and knots of Hindu 
traders and other British subjects were standing about the 
grounds discussing the situation and spreading the wildest 
rumours. The only point on which every one agreed was 
that the Titai was dead (as a matter of fact this was not the 
case) and that the troops were coming over to the Old City 
for his son, the massive outer wall of whose citadel was within 
a couple of hundred yards of the Consulate gates. I took 
such steps as I could for the safeguarding of the foreign colony 
and awaited developments. 

At about twelve noon a shot rang out from the Hsieh Tai’s 
citadel, followed closely by another and then by a regular 
fusillade. Some of the shots came over the Consulate, and I 
had to make everybody take cover in case of spent bullets. 
I went to see D. in her small private kitchen, and found her 
still baking cakes and quite unconscious of the fact that 
there was a war on. From where she was she could not hear 
the firing, but when she went out into the garden to feed the 
rabbits, which she insisted on doing, war or no war, she heard 
the ‘“ ping ’’ of several bullets as they came over. A twig 
from a tree, cut by one of them, fell to the ground at our feet. 
The heavy firing lasted about a quarter of an hour, and for 
the rest of the day there were only occasional shots. After 
lunch I went round with a couple of orderlies to the gate of 
the fort to find out what had happened; I was told that the 
Hsieh Tai was lying dead and that the Government troops 
were chasing his soldiers about the streets and in the sur- 
rounding country, taking prisoner those who threw away 
their rifles and shooting those who did not. In the afternoon 
I received a call from a burly, round-faced, ruddy-complexioned, 
rather pleasant-looking Chinese officer, who showed me where 
a bullet had entered his thigh during the fighting. He proved 
to be second in command of the Government troops, the 
leader of which I was interested to hear was no other than 
the ‘“‘ Ma Darin ’”’ who, as Amban of Uch Turfan, had enter- 


1 Probably no one fired on purpose in our direction, but I under- 
stand that in Chinese civil warfare a large proportion of the shots 
are fired into the air by way of frightfulness. 


ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 265 


tained me at that delectable place the previous September. 
It appeared that some years before Ma had been Amban of 
Kashgar New City, and that the Titai had then done him some 
great wrong; now, for the sake of revenge, Ma had asked 
the Governor, as a special favour, for the command of the 
flying column that was to surprise and destroy his old enemy. 
The wounded officer came on behalf of his chief to ask when 
the latter could come and call on me, also to apologize for 
having left us undefended during the fighting. In spite of 
my protests he insisted on leaving eight very tired infantry- 
men to guard us. We gave the poor lads a good tea, for they 
were dead beat, as well they might be; they had marched 
20 miles by night, had rushed the Titai’s citadel at dawn, 
marched 6 miles over to the Old City and had stormed the 
Hsieh Tai’s yamen, all since sunset the evening before. 

Next day I was able to piece together from various accounts 
the full story of the affair. It appeared that on‘24th May 
the larger part of the Government troops, under Erh Taoyin, 
marched ostentatiously out of Aqsu and down the Maralbashi 
road towards Kashgar. At the same time a picked force of 
six hundred, under Captain Ma (as the ex-Amban of Uch 
Turfan was now styled) slipped off along the same mountain 
road, vid Uch Turfan, Oaragor and Yai Débe, which we had 
followed on our way to Bai the previous autumn. The main 
body, under Erh, halted at Maralbashi, but Captain Ma’s 
“men, in seven forced marches, reached a secluded spot among 
the Artush hills, to the north of Kashgar, within easy striking 
distance of the New City. They had no difficulty in capturing 
the few scouts the Titai had out in this direction. 

On the night of our dinner-party (Saturday, 31st May), 
Captain Ma and his men marched rapidly to the New City 
and waited outside the gates. The Titai, over-confident as 
usual, and imagining that his enemies were still several marches 
from Kashgar, had omitted to take the most elementary pre- 
cautions. His soldiers, of whom he had several hundred in 
the citadel, were all asleep or under the influence of opium, 
and the gates were opened as usual at dawn to admit the 
villagers crowding into market with their produce. The 
Titai was asleep in his immense new wooden palace, a four- 
storied affair, painted red and elaborately decorated with 
grotesque carvings and frescoes. Captain Ma and a small 
band of picked men made their way straight to the palace, 
fired some shots into it, and called upon the Titai to surrender. 


266 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


He replied with a volley from the windows, killing an officer 
and two men. Captain Ma and his party dashed across the 
courtyard and up three flights of stairs fighting all the way, 
until at last they forced an entrance into the old man’s bed- 
room. The Titai fought like a tiger at bay, wounding one of 
the party, but Ma with a lucky pistol-shot in the right arm 
disabled him and took him prisoner. With the capture of 
their formidable ‘‘ King’’ the soldiers of the Titai, who 
had meanwhile been fighting with Ma’s men in the palace 
and town, broke and fled. Only four or five of them were 
killed, the whole affair having taken place in less than a 
quarter of an hour and having been a complete surprise. The 
wounded tyrant was bound and taken to an inn outside his 
citadel, while the invaders looted his palace, which was full 
of valuables, chiefly in the form of opium, silks and jade. 
Telegrams were exchanged with Urumchi, and next day the 
Titai paid the penalty for his crimes. He was put up against 
the main gateway of the citadel and riddled with bullets, on 
the very spot where the bodies of his victims, alive or dead, 
had so often been exposed pour encourager les autres. His 
corpse was left there for a couple of days tied up to a kind of 
cross for the people to insult and defile, which large numbers 
of them did with the utmost gusto. 

On the Tuesday I rode with a friend to the New City and 
returned the call which Captain Ma had courteously paid me 
the previous afternoon. The slayer of the Titai, a quiet easy- 
mannered little man with aquiline features and steady dark 
eyes, took me all over the fallen tyrant’s palace. It was an 
immense wooden structure with four stories and a pagoda 
roof, painted dark red and covered with grotesque frescoes 
and wooden figures of symbolical birds and animals. I had 
heard much about this palace, which had only just been com- 
pleted ; more than once I had peeped through its outer gates 
with a slight shudder at the thought of the sinister power which 
had called it into being. It was a curious sensation to find 
myself climbing flight after flight of steep stairs and entering 
a large central bedroom lavishly decorated with crude paint- 
ings. The walls, the ceiling and the great bed-alcove were all 
splintered with rifle- and pistol-shots and littered with arms 
and accoutrements, piles of ammunition-boxes, great-coats, 
and so on, for Captain Ma’s soldiers had taken possession of 
the place. From the new palace we were conducted to the 
Titai’s old Yamen along a kind of raised way, carried on 


ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 267 


trestles, over the roofs of the houses and the streets of the 
bazaar; this was the Titai’s ‘“‘ Royal Road,” along which 
he had been wont to walk between his old and new residences 
without soiling his feet with the dust of the bazaar. Between 
thirty and forty ladies of the Titai’s harem were still living at 
the old Yamen when the blow fell ; I was told that they were 
being treated kindly by our old friend Mr. Wang, Magistrate 
of the New City, in whose charge they had been placed. A 
horrible, toothless old major-domo of the Titai’s showed us, with 
ghoulish gusto, over the warren-like zenana, still odorous of its 
late fair occupants, but turned completely upside down, looted 
and violated. Carpets were ripped up, upholstery torn open, 
tablesand cupboards smashed to pieces in the search for treasure ; 
for it was well known that the late owner had invested a large 
part of his ill-gotten gains in diamonds and other jewellery, 
mostly Russian revolution loot, which he had bought cheap 
from across the frontier. And everywhere was jade, great 
blocks of it, half-polished slabs lying about, broken cups and 
half-turned bangles littering the ground; for one of the 
Titai’s industrial enterprises had been the establishment of 
a jade-cutting factory in his yamen, by the simple process of 
moving half the Khotan artisans bodily to Kashgar and forcing 
them to work at starvation rates on the jade brought from his 
mines in the upper Yarkand River basin. 

Throughout the whole of that week I was greatly impressed 
by the orderliness of the proceedings. By the evening of the 
Sunday on which the Titai was captured all was quiet, and 
there was no disorder on the part either of the conquerors or 
of the conquered, who in Chinese civil war are usually more 
dangerous to the civilian population than their rivals. If it 
had been the Persia of my Kerman days, every shop in the 
bazaar would have closed at the first hint of trouble and half 
the population would have been taking refuge (bas?) against 
one side or the other. As it was, the only effect of the general 
excitement was an all-round rise of about Io per cent. in prices. 
This satisfactory state of affairs was entirely due to the 
thoroughness of Governor Yang’s preparations and the effi- 
ciency of his lieutenants; for there is no doubt that if the 
dispositions of the Higher Command had been less skilful or 
the revenge-seeking Captain Ma less bold and swift in his 
movements, the course of events might have been very 
different. The Titai and his son, knowing that it was war to 
the death, were preparing to defend the New and Old Cities 


268 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


respectively ; and if they had not been taken by surprise 
several days before they thought the Governor’s troops could 
possibly reach them, there would have been much more 
bloodshed and many civilians might have lost lives or 
property. 

The joy and relief of the Kashgaris at their deliverance 
knew no bounds. The popular feelings were amusingly ex- 
pressed in a ribald ballad, which was being sung within two 
days of the Titai’s execution, if not sooner. It described with 
much gusto the defeat of the ‘‘ Bald Wax-Seller’’ by the 
Government troops, his capture and his subsequent execution, 
by ‘‘Ma Darin.’’ The poetry of this effusion was not of a 
high order, but some of the quatrains showed considerable 
verve. Here are a few specimens: 


The wily Ma Darin 
He brought his Kalmuck lads 

He fell upon the New City and took it 
He seized the Bald Wax-seller and shot him. 


By Allah! a wind arose 
By Allah! a tempest arose 

The soldiers of the Bald Wax-seller 
By Allah! they have fled away. 


The Bald Wax-seller who slept on cotton-wool 

The Bald Wax-seller who lolled in his carriage 
Who founded the city of Frogtown 1 

Four bullets were enough for him and he is gone. 


Though he boasted in his pride 
His soul was in the hands of God; 
Weep not, O people of Kashgar 

Your city too is in God’s hands. 


The fate of the Titai’s harem was a matter which excited 
the keenest interest among the scandal-loving Kashgaris. 
Another of the quatrains ran as follows: 


In the palace of Ma Titai 

Forty vases of flowers are left; 
The wives of Ma Titai 

On an evil day are widowed. 





1 The Titai built an immense palace at Pakalik, 12 miles south of the 
New City, but as mentioned above it was burnt down. The name 
means *“ full of frogs,’ for which reason the Titai changed it to Sukho 
and forbade the use of the name Pakalik. 


ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 269 


It was rumoured that Ma Darin, who was young and good- 
looking, had fallen in love with the fairest of his slain foe’s 
daughters, Shujia Khan: 

Word came from Peking 
That Ma Darin was to return; 
Ma Darin refused to go 
| Saying ‘“‘ They must give me Shujia Khan.” 

I regret to say that so far as I could discover there was not 
the slightest foundation for this romantic story. 

Satisfaction at the destruction of the Titai was not confined 
to the Turki population. Shortly after the “war” D. 
lunched with a Chinese friend whose husband, an official of 
high rank, had lost much “‘ face’’ in an encounter with the 
Titai two years before. The old lady, chuckling mightily, 
told D. that when she heard that fighting was going on at the 
Hsieh Tai’s Yamen she ordered her carriage at once and 
drove over to see the fun. To her intense disappointment 
the officer in command would not let her in and sent her back 
to her garden with an escort of twenty rifles. Next day, 
when she heard that the Titai had been shot and his body 
exposed, she drove to the New City to see it. ‘‘ There he 
was,” she crowed, ‘‘ the ‘ King’ who had lorded it over us all 
and robbed people right and left for so long, nailed up to a 
wooden stake and all full of holes! Twenty-five holes there 
were in him, I counted them. There was an extra big one in 
the middle; Ma Darin says he made that. And all the 
Turban-heads were spitting on him and throwing mud at him 
and calling him ‘‘ Padshah.’”” His hands and feet were cut 
off, just as he used to do to people who annoyed him ; they’ve 
been sent packed in a box to the Governor at Urumchi. I 
went to see the Hsieh-Tai too ; he hadn’t nearly so many holes 
in him, but he was just as dead as his father. Yesterday all 
the Titai’s wives went in carts to Ma Darin to ask for food, 
as they said they were starving. He gave them a lot of rice 
and flour and two hundred taels to go on with. Some one 
offered to get carriages for them to drive to Ma Darin’s in, 
but the Hsieh Tai’s mother said ‘ No, we can’t have carriages 
now, we must go in carts like common folk.’ ”’ 

¥ uB ms ak * aK a e *% * * * 

By the time that the excitement of our small ‘‘war’”’ had 
passed, midsummer was upon us and we realized sadly that the 
sands of our happy time at Kashgar were fast running out. 
My leave, two years overdue, had at last been sanctioned ; 
during twelve years’ eastern service I had only had six months’ 


270 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 

home leave, and the opportunity of a long spell was not to 
be missed. My successor, Lieut.-Col. R. Lyall, I.A., was 
already on his way from England and was expected to arrive 
towards the end of August. There was just time to treat our- 
selves to a farewell visit to the Alps of Qungur, where much 
mapping still remained to be done and many desirable photo- 
graphs were as yet untaken. I postponed our start until 22nd 
July, partly in the hope of finding better weather at Kaying 
and less snow on my high climbs, partly because by going a 
month later than the previous year I hoped to secure the seeds 
of some of the plants which had then been in flower. This 
time I decided to make first for the upper Yapchan Jilgha, 
where we had discovered a delightful camping-place on our 
way back from Kaying the year before; my object was to 
reconnoitre and if possible gain access to the Tigarmansu 
Jilgha, a valley immediately to the north-west of Kaying but 
completely cut off from it by the tremendous precipices of 
K6k Déng and Sarigh Yon. 

July was unusually hot at Kashgar, and there was also a 
perfect plague of wasps brought on by the superabundance of 
fruit, which rotted in our orchard for want of enough mouths in 
the Consulate to eat it. The heat also caused the summer 
floods to rise to abnormal heights, and 15 miles from Kashgar 
we had one of the worst river-crossings I ever experienced. 
At one time I thought we would have to go home and wait for 
the floods to subside, which would probably have meant the 
abandonment of the trip. It was therefore even more pleasant 
than usual to find ourselves on 26th July encamped among the 
fir-woods and wild-rose thickets of the beautiful Yapchan alp, 
right opposite the magnificent red cliffs of Bozarga and Bele 
Tok. Two days later, with an irreducible minimum of retinue 
and baggage carried on yaks, we dived into the great red sand- 
stone gorge and crawled once more up the secret track to 
Bozarga. Crossing the At Bel pass (12,000 feet) without 
difficulty we zigzagged 2,000 feet down the grassy flank of K6k 
Déng and came to the prosperous-looking encampment of Oi, 
the summer headquarters of a minor Beg and seven or eight 
families of Kirghiz. Here, to my surprise, I found we were no 
longer in the Yangi Hissar district as in the Qaratash valley, 
but under the jurisdiction of the magistrate of the Chinese 
Pamirs at Tashqurghan, eight long marches away. The Beg 
did his best to make us stay the night with him and go back 
across the pass next day without venturing down into the wild 


ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 271 


Tigarmansu Jilgha, the path to which he described as very 
difficult. The situation was saved, however, by an excellent 
Kirghiz of Tigarmansu called Yunus Akhun, a name and title 
which may be translated with some accuracy as “‘ Mr. Jonah.’’ 
This man, who reminded me strongly of the best type of 
Highland ghillie, proved to be of Bokharan origin, his father 
having migrated to the Chinese Pamirs from the Qaratigin 
mountains, which divide Bokhara from Ferghana. He cor- 
dially invited us to his valley on behalf of his uncle, Sikilak 
Beg, the headman of the three families which constituted the 
entire population of the Tigarmansu Jilgha. He said he would 
guide us and that the path was quite easy. Seeing that we were 
determined to proceed, the Beg of Oi lent us six fresh yaks in 
place of our tired ones and bade us God-speed. 

The track proved up-and-down and very narrow, but not 
dangerous, and the sun had not yet set when we topped the last 
col and found ourselves looking up the deep trough-like valley 
of the Tigarmansu or “ Water of the Mill.’”’ Descending by 
a steep track to the foaming glacier-stream we forded it and 
made our way up through fields of meadowsweet till we came 
to the first tall firs. Here there was an old mill from which 
the valley derived its name, with a shrine and a sacred spring 
close by ; and here we were met by tall, handsome old Sikilak 
Beg. The tents of the Kirghiz were pitched a mile further up 
in a clearing in the thick forest which clothed what I after- 
wards found to be the ancient terminal moraine of the Tigar- 
mansu Glacier. ‘‘ Mr. Jonah” and his family insisted on 
turning out of their ag-o1 for us and camping alfresco among 
the trees a few yards away, and altogether we were made very 
welcome. We soon found out the reason of their empressement, 
which was that the Kirghiz of the Qungur region had been 
talking about D. and her medicines and tea-parties ever 
since our last visit; with the result that now there was the 
keenest competition among the different valleys to receive a 
visit from us. A girl from Kaying had married a Tigarmansu 
man since the previous summer, and now greeted D. as an old 
friend. 

We could only allow ourselves three days in this valley, 
and to our disgust it was misty and rainy nearly the whole time. 
One of my objects had been to climb the Dilbagh “ pass,’’ a col 
about 13,000 feet high leading over to the Qurghan Kol 
Jilgha, another large unexplored glacier-valley of Qungur ; 
from this col I hoped at last to see the inner arcana of the great 


272 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


range. But when we tried it the first morning, down came the 
clouds and we had to turn back half-way. I had also hoped to 
obtain a close view of the needle-like Shiwakte group from some 
vantage-point near the head of the Tigarmansu Jilgha; but 
the peaks which shut in the head of the valley never cleared of 
cloud at all. I had therefore to confine my attentions to the 
valley itself, of which I made a plane-table sketch. At the foot 
of the ancient terminal moraine on which the camp was 
pitched we found a remarkable phenomenon ; a flood of shell- 
pink water gushed out from among the roots of the great firs 
and joined the glacier stream, the waters of which it perceptibly 
tinged with its own exquisite hue. Two miles above the camp, 
at the foot of the existing glacier 13,350 feet above the sea, we 
found the source of the pink colour ; in the moraine were beds 
of red clay over which a strong stream flowed from the glacier 
for a hundred yards before disappearing into the earth. At 
various points in the valley I noticed a greenish tinge in the 
rocks, which suggested copper. The Kirghiz told me that 
a rich vein of copper ore had once been worked in a terrifying 
and barely accessible cleft which they pointed out to me, 
high up on the precipitous north-west face of Kék Déng; it 
was so rich that in spite of the primitiveness of their methods 
the Kirghiz had for years smelted the ore and made pots and 
pans and cartridge cases out of the copper. Inrecent years the 
mine had been abandoned and its very existence kept dark for 
fear of the Titai’s men hearing about it, as this would have 
meant the mine being taken over and the Kirghiz forced to 
work in it for the benefit of the Titai. It was for the same 
reason that they kept so quiet about the track over the At 
Bel Pass from the Yapchan Jilgha, which we should never have 
found for ourselves if old Samsaq Bai had not shown it to us. 
The Tigarmansu glen is accessible by this track alone, at 
any rate in summer; there is no exit from its upper end, and 
its lower reaches lie through a deep and narrow gorge im- 
passable in the high-water season. 

On our way back to the Yapchan alp, where we had left our 
tents, we visited Samsaq Bai and hisclan, who were encamped 
this year just behind the fir-clad crest of one of the great precip- 
ices of Zor Qir. A grassy ridge dotted with clumps of juniper 
and fir, very much like a well-laid-out park, jutted out 1,500 
feet above the Yapchan valley like the prow of a ship; all 
round the aq-o1s the turf was starred with purple anemones, 
gentians and marigolds. The grazing was rich and the view 


aAHIOVIS ONIAVS 
SSVd MadaM AHL AO INHOSHC AHL NO dudLS CYVMAMV NV HO UNIVYON WOU (Lada obz‘Sr) SSVd Mudda AHL 











ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 273 


superb ; but the place had one disadvantage. There was no 
water nearer than the spring in the Bozarga glen 600 feet 
below, from which the unfortunate ladies, in addition to their 
other multifarious duties, had to carry up all the water required 
in the camp. 

From Yapchan we marched to Kaying Bashi, where we 
camped once more at the lovely alp below the forest. We 
could spare but eight days for the Happy Valley, and were 
fortunate in having four of them brilliantly clear. On one of 
these D. and I climbed with yaks to a height of 14,500 feet on 
the Torbashi Glacier. After lunch I left D. in a sunny corner 
with an orderly and climbed another 1,500 feet to the top of the 
knife-edge ridge which divides the Torbashi branch of the 
Kaying Jilgha from the head of the Tigarmansu Jilgha. There 
was a great deal of soft snow about,and with only a sturdy 
Kirghiz boy called Tash to help me I had considerable difficulty 
in reaching the top with my camera and surveying instruments. 
But it was well worth it, for I obtained not only some exceed- 
ingly useful ‘‘ rays’’ for my map but one of the very finest 
mountain photographs I have ever secured, of the ice-clad 
peak of Shiwakte I (19,400 feet) piercing the clouds right 
opposite me at a distance of only 2$ miles. (Plate 164.) 

Two days later, on 4th August, I carried out a plan I had 
nursed ever since we had first found our way to Kaying. 
This was to climb out of the valley at its head and recon- 
noitre the Chimghan Jilgha and the main Shiwakte group 
beyond. It will be remembered that I had hoped to do this the 
summer before, but had been baffled by the snow which closed 
the ‘‘ pass’’ even in mid-July. Now, however, the Kirghiz 
pronounced the Kepek Bel sufficiently clear of snow for the 
crossing to be attempted; even so, the 1,000 foot couloir 
at the top was so steep and so filled with ice that there was 
no question of yaks going upit. I chose the two best mergens 
or ibex-stalkers in the valley as my guides, Phoken and Tiimir 
by name, sturdy lads who looked regular wild men of the 
woods in their great sheep-skin caps; at the last moment 
the boy Tash, who looked like fourteen but said he was twenty, 
insisted on coming with me. The party was made up by our 
staunch Hunza cragsman, Sangi Khan. Leaving D. in camp 
for a night by herself in charge of the trusty Hafiz, we started 
at 5 a.m. with a supply of cold food and Bovril, my two 
cameras, a sleeping-bag, and my plane table and instruments 
tied upinasack. We did the first 4,000 feet on yaks, then left 

18 


274 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


them to graze on the topmost pastures of the Kaying glacier- 
moraine while we attacked the couloir. On our left sheets of 
ice at angles varying from 45° to 60° came down from the 
precipices which enclose the head of the Kaying Jilgha and 
formed a couloir with the almost vertical cliffs of Shiwakte I 
on our right, along which we had to crawl the whole way. In 
several places steps had to be cut across tongues of ice running 
up into the cliff, and the kit had often to be sent up from hand 
to hand over difficult sections. Shortly after ten we reached 
the col, and I had a thrilling moment as I clambered to the top 
of a boulder and gazed over an imposing array of ice-clad 
ranges to the south. The atmospheric conditions were not 
good enough for a worthy photograph, but I was able to secure a 
complete set of ‘‘ rays’’ which afterwards enabled me to fix 
the position of the mountains Isaw. They proved to be those 
on the south side of the Chimghan Jilgha and its tributary the 
Ters6ze, and one of them at least to be more than 22,000 
feet high. None of them had been seen from this side by 
Western eyes before. It was disappointing to find that the 
Shiwakte peaks were hidden by a row of black aiguilles like 
the teeth of a saw which came down from the right. In 
trying to shelter the hypsometer from the wind I knocked it 
over and broke the thermometer ;_ luckily I had a spare one 
with me, with which I obtained a height of 15,230 feet for the 
top of the pass. 

The descent on the south side into a branch of the Chim- 
ghan Jilgha called Aghalistan proved easy enough, the way 
leading first down a small glacier and then at 13,000 feet 
striking a very large one called by the Kirghiz Aq Tash or 
“White Rock,’’ obviously from its brilliant serac which is 
visible from a great distance. There was no sign of any track ; 
the pass is seldom used, and we were the first over it that season. 
By the time we reached this point the clouds had shut down, 
and I could only see the lower portion of the vast precipices at 
the head of the main glacier, which I took to be those of the 
elusive Shiwakte. Further down we were met by two Kirghiz 
herdsmen, who were astonished to see us but led us hospitably 
to their huts. At my request they sent word to their headman, 
Sayat Beg, whose encampment they told us was a long way 
further down at the junction of the Aghalistan with the 
main Chimghan Jilgha. I had intended to spend the night 
there, but the weather was not promising and I was nervous 
about being cut off from Kaying and D., perhaps for weeks, 


ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 275 


by heavy snow on the pass ; besides which I was suffering from 
a severe headache due to eyestrain brought on by long hours of 
peering through the sight-rule of my plane-table at the top 
of the pass and on the way down. I therefore decided to stay 
where I was and re-cross the Kepek next morning. Sayat 
Beg arrived during the afternoon and gave me much interesting 
information about his valley and the Qaratash basin in general. 
He told me among other things that there was no outlet what- 
ever at the head of the Chimghan Jilgha, nothing but “‘ muz 
tagh’’ or ‘‘ice-mountain’”’ which he vaguely designated 
‘““Shiwakte’’; that at the head of the Tersdéze or southern 
branch of the jilgha there was a very difficult pass, worse even 
than the one I had come over, which led over to Little Qara 
Kul on the Pamirs; and that there were no fir-trees in the 
Chimghan Jilgha or in any of its tributaries. 

My head was so bad that I could eat nothing that night and 
went to bed at nine in a somewhat depressed frame of mind on 
the floor of one of the huts. In spite of the elevation (over 
12,000 feet) it was surprisingly mild and I slept well enough 
till four, when I awoke blessedly free from headache. To my 
joy I found that it had cleared up, so after a good breakfast 
I started at half-past five up the mountain-side. I was 
rewarded with the most marvellous spectacle I have ever seen. 
The Shiwakte peaks stood round the head of the Aq Tash basin 
in a glorious semicircle, their ice-pinnacles gleaming in the dawn, 
mighty glaciers hanging from their sides like frozen waterfalls 
thousands of feet high. The clouds were already collecting 
round them and by eight had completely hidden them once 
more, but long ere this I had secured some fine pictures and 
had also completed my plane-table sketch. The mountain- 
side was alive with Tibetan snow-cock, whose mournful cry, 
not unlike that of whaups on Scottish moors, sounded in my 
ears as I worked. 

Our descent from the Kepek Pass into the Kaying Jilgha 
later in the morning was not without incident. It was per- 
ceptibly warmer than the day before, evidently banking up 
for heavy rain, and the ice was very soft. The steps we had 
made the previous day had melted, and new ones had to be cut ; 
rocks loosened by the thaw came buzzing down from the cliffs 
above and had to be dodged ; nor was it safe to avoid them by 
venturing out on the steeply-pitched glacier, because the thin 
coating of flat stones and frozen stones over the crevasses 
might now be insufficient to bear one’s weight. As it was, 


276 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


the Beg, who at my request came over with us to investigate 
some complaint of the Kaying people, had a narrow escape. 
He was just in front of me as we filed across an arm of the 
glacier, when suddenly he disappeared up to his armpits. The 
débris of flat stones which lay on top of the ice held him up, 
and we soon fished him out; but I noticed with a slight 
shudder, peering down into the hole, that his legs had been 
dangling over a crevasse of unknown depth. Near the bottom 
of the couloir we had to jump off the edge of the glacier on to 
a steep slope of loose stones, and in doing so started a stone- 
slide which plunged wnder the snowfield we had just left and 
went on roaring away underneath for a long time. At last, 
however, we found ourselves safely on the flowery moraine of 
the main Kaying glacier, where by arrangement a Kirghiz lad 
was waiting for us with the yaks. 

The rain held off during our last four days at Kaying, but 
the clouds shut down more and more heavily and further 
survey operations were out of the question. We spent our 
time partly with the Kirghiz, whom we entertained at a big 
tea-party followed by games and races, partly in collecting and 
drying plants for Kew. It was disappointing to find that al- 
though we were leaving the valley a month later than in 1923, 
scarcely any of the flowers had yet seeded. Evidently 
maturing had been delayed by the exceptionally cold and 
boisterous weather which we had experienced in May on the 
return journey from Khotan.? 

Our visits to Kaying, however, had not been fruitless. 
Though clumsy and amateurish enough, my plane-table 
sketches, sets of rays, panoramas and other material after- 
wards enabled Major K. Mason of the Survey of India, who has 
made the cartography of the Pamir region his own, to fill in 
with considerable detail the blank patch in Sir Aurel Stein’s 
map which that distinguished explorer advised me to investi- 
gate. Those interested in the topography and orography of 
this remarkable region will find a full account of it in my 
paper on “The Alps of Qungur” in the ‘‘ Geographical 
Journal ”’ for November 1925, to which is appended a note by 
Major Mason on his compilation of my material. According 
to Major Mason, what he is pleased to call my explorations 
‘“. . .. fill in several important blanks in our knowledge of 
the eastern flanks of the Qungur massif. They give a very 


1 Experienced also by the 1924 Mount Everest Expedition, 700 
miles to the south-east. 








ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 277 


good picture of the ‘ peripheral gorges of the Pamir plateau,’ 
and while emphasizing the difficulties of the ground, reveal a 
certain amount of vegetation and habitation of which we had 
previously no knowledge whatever .... One of the out- 
standing features of the exploration is the further evidence 
of the existence of Qungur II. Its great featureless dome 
has been the cause of uncertainty for years. Its height is 
not yet settled, but we know now that it competes with Qun- 
gur I for the post of the highest point of the Pamirs.”’ 

On oth August we said good-bye to the Happy Valley and our 
Kirghiz friends. We still like to think that they were sorry 
to see the last of us. The morning that we crossed the Chop- 
kana Pass was misty and lowering, and my farewell impression 
of Kaying Bashi is of the valley as I saw it at about ten o’clock 
the evening before. Heavy clouds half-filled the sky and haze 
the valley ; inagapright above the Shiwakte sailed the moon, 
her light shining full upon the glacier-stream which sped past 
me down its stony course. The night was calm and brooding ; 
the haze veiled everything except the gleaming river and the 
icy crown of the great mountain; but standing out black 
even against the blackness rose on one side the nearer firs, on 
the other the needle-points of Zumurrat, far up into the starless 
heavens. Allelse—the lower precipices, the forests, the snouts 
of the big glaciers—all was wrapped in darkness and mystery ; 
only the river and the eternal snows glowed in the dim radiance 
of the moonlight. As I gazed spell-bound, there came into 
my memory the song of the shepherd-minstrel at Polu: 

The Power of God created the mountains, the mountains ; 


Then because it was dark among the mountains, He created the 
moon. 


CHAPTER XVII 
BACK TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 


N 13th August we rode into Kashgar at the head of our 
() caravan for the last time. Little more than three 

weeks remained to us, for my successor had passed 
Tashqurghan and was expected on the 25th. They were 
crowded weeks of packing and preparation for our journey to 
Srinagar, of winding up official and private affairs, of handing 
over charge to the new Consul-General, of calls and inter- 
views innumerable and feasts of welcome and farewell. Of the 
many and varied preoccupations connected with so important 
an event as a change of Consul-General, I will mention only one 
as anexample. A Chinese name had to be assigned to Colonel 
Lyall and a wooden “chop” carved with the appropriate 
characters, from which a stock of the indispensable red paper 
visiting-cards could be struck. It was of the utmost im- 
portance that the name, while approximating to the 
Colonel’s own patronymic, should have a lucky meaning, one 
that would give its owner “face’’ with highly-educated 
Chinese officials. Accordingly Mr. George Chu, our Chinese 
Secretary, was told off to christen the new Consul-General, 
and in due course he produced a draft name for my approval. 
It sounded something like “ Lai-i-lu,’”’ and its three characters, 
as Chu showed me in Dr. Giles’ monumental dictionary, meant 
“A pure dwelling upon Mount Lai’’—the latter being a 
famous sacred mountain in Szechwan. What more exquisitely 
classical, more face-giving appellation could be imagined? 
I approved, and at my next interview with the Taoyin, a noted 
scholar, I asked for his opinion. To my surprise, the old 
mandarin was not at all enthusiastic and begged me to allow 
himself and Mr. Tao, his Foreign Affairs Secretary, to find a 
better name. Our production, he informed me, would give 
the new Consul-General no face at all. If the character 
‘‘Lai’’ was pronounced in the second tone, all would be well. 

278 


BACK TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 279 


But most people would pronounce it in the fourth tone, in 
which case the name would mean “‘ A strong man who refuses 
to pay his debts! ”’ 

Colonel Lyall duly arrived, and ten days later, on 5th 
September, we started down the road to India. In Chinese 
Central Asia the maxim “ Speed the parting guest ”’ is taken 
much more seriously than in the twentieth-century India of 
railways, steamships and motors. Ours was no hurried 
official departure with perfunctory railway-platform speeches 
and garlands of heavy-scented marigolds, alarming though 
even this amount of ceremonial usually is to the self-conscious 
Briton. Between us, D. and I were bidden farewell at no less 
than eight different roadside feasts and tea-drinkings, before 
Kashgar finally let us go. D.’s description in a letter of her 
own experiences, though not exactly cheerful reading, is 
worth quoting : 


“C. had a lot to do that morning and could not get away till the 
afternoon, so as Mrs. J and some of the other Chinese ladies 
had asked me to lunch with them in a garden outside the city I left 
before he did. The first good-byes were to the Doctor’s wife and 
other ‘‘ purdah ”’ ladies of the Consulate, and they were not altogether 
tearless! The next were silent ones to the cats, the rabbits and other 
animals, and to the house and garden. Then there were the clerks, 
the Aqsaqal, the orderlies, house-servants and gardeners, and then 
I was riding through the gateway of the Consulate-General for the 
last time with a lump in my throat and my heart somewhere about 
my stirrups. 

“‘T found Mrs. J and the others waiting for me in the roadside 
garden which had been prepared, and lunch spread in a big pavilion, 
roofed but open on all four sides. We all made a pretence of eating 
but without much success, especially as Mrs. J was shortly leaving 
Kashgar herself for Urumchi and was nearly as sad about it as I was. 
‘You are going away to the South,’ she said, ‘and I am going away 
to the North, and God knows if either of us will ever see Kashgar 
again.” Out came all our handkerchiefs on the spot. 

“IT took my leave soon after this and trotted off down the Tash- 
malik road, followed by Hafiz. Near the edge of the wide Qizil Darya 
river-bed I found the entire Russian colony assembled and a long table 
spread with cakes and other dainties under the trees and the inevitable 
samovar simmering in the background. Tea and a cigarette were 
very welcome and then there were more good-byes and I got on my 
pony again. A little further on, a number of the British subjects 
were busy erecting a platform draped with red calico in preparation 
for C.’s passing in the afternoon. They wanted me to stop and have 
some tea, but as they had only just begun to unpack their things I 
excused myself and apologized for leaving unexpectedly early, shook 
hands all round and piloted by Hafiz, urged my pony into the waters 
of the Qizil Darya. On the further shore the Swedish missionaries 











280 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


were waiting with quantities of their delicious coffee and cakes laid 
out on a cool spot among the willows on the river’s edge. As I drank 
my last cup, to my surprise I saw the Taoyin’s carriage with an escort 
of Chinese cavalry fording the river, and when I came to the road 
again there was the new Taoyin’s wife and the chief Yamen Beg with 
all the arrangements for a farewell tea-drinking set up in a wayside 
baker’s shop. This lady and I had only recently made each other’s 
acquaintance, so our good-byes were perhaps somewhat stereotyped. 
But they were by no means the last. Two miles farther on and quite 
six from Kashgar, Aisha Khan and most of the wives of the Consulate 
staff were assembled. They had left Chini Bagh before me in carts 
and had arranged their little tea-drinking in a field about fifty yards 
from the road, the carts being drawn up so as to screen us from the 
gaze of passers-by. I choked down a little tea, but cut the party 
short for they were all crying and it was all I could do to keep a stiff 
upper lip. They dropped their veils and came with me as far as the 
road. 

‘“‘T said good-bye and rode off, but stood for amoment before reaching 
a turn in the road and looked back. I shall never forget the picture 
the women made, standing together under the trees, with the afternoon 
sun slanting through the branches on to the blue and red and purple 
of their dresses. Then I turned a corner, and they were hidden from 
sight.” 


September and October are the best months in the year for 
trekking in High Asia, and we did not hurry down the road to 
India. As far as Tashqurghan we travelled by an entirely 
different route from that which we had followed on the way 
to Kashgar in 1922. Instead of entering the mountains south 
of Yangi Hissar and crossing the Kashka Su, Ter Art, Yambu- 
lak and Chichiklik passes, we marched south-west to Tash- 
malik, through the Gez gorges to Bulunkul and thence south- 
wards across the Pamirs to Tagharma and the Sariqol valley. 
This is the route used by the Consulate couriers all the 
year round and by ordinary travellers during the low-water 
season. Itslength isabout thesame as that of the Chichiklik 
route, but it has the advantage of rising gradually to one easy 
pass only 13,600 feet high instead of crossing four steep ones 
going up to over 16,000 feet. On the other hand, during the 
six high-water months (say 15th April-r15th October) the 
Gez valley is impassable for 25 miles between the lowest of 
the bridges in the gorge and its mouth near Tashmalik. To 
avoid this the traveller between Kashgar and Bulunkul usually 
crosses the ‘‘ Nine Passes ’’ already mentioned, two days’ hot 
and toilsome scrambling over ridge after ridge among the 
barren outer ranges to the east of the lower Gez. This did not 
appeal to me, and I worked out a route which I hoped would 


BACK TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 281 


serve the triple purpose of avoiding the Nine Passes, recon- 
noitring a new “ blank patch ’”’ which promised to be at least 
as interesting as the Alps of Qungur, and materially assisting 
my survey of the latter region. 

From the top of the Zor Qir ridge above Bozarga in July 
1923 Samsaq Bai had pointed out to me a pass called the Arpa 
Bel, about 20 miles away on the north side of the Gez valley 
between the Chakragil massif and a subsidiary peak called 
Sargalang (14,900 feet). He told me that it was regularly used 
by the local people, and led over from the main valley near 
Gez Qaraul to the Oitagh Jilgha, which he said was a very 
fine valley with fir-woods and rich pastures and many inhabi- 
tants. This pass was free from snow and did not look much 
more than 13,000 feet high ; no European so far as I knew had 
crossed it or visited the alps of the Upper Oitagh Jilgha at the 
foot of the tremendous north-eastern precipices of Chakra- 
gil. More important still, if only the weather was clear I 
would obtain from it an extremely valuable cross-view of 
Oungur and the peaks at the head of the Tigarmansu and 
Ourghan Kul Jilghas from the north. Instead, therefore, of 
crossing the Nine Passes we forded the Gez with some difficulty 
above Tashmalik, struck up the long Oitagh Jilgha and after 
camping for three days near its head crossed the Arpa Bel to 
Gez Qaraul. ? 

The beauty and grandeur of the scenery we found at the 
head of the Oitagh Jilgha surpassed even the Alps of Qungur, 
and we bitterly regretted being unable to pay it more than a 
flying visit ; especially as the inexorable dust-haze of summer 
—the season was still exceptionally warm everywhere— 
robbed me of the photographs I might have secured had we been 
able to wait. On our third and fourth nights from Kashgar we 
halted at a village of small stone farmsteads called Agh 
Aghzi, eight miles up the Oitagh valley from its junction with 
the Gez. The inhabitants we found to be “ Taghliks’’ or 
mountain-dwelling Turkis, ‘ Sarts’’ as the Russians would 
call them. They were unanimous in their deprecation of any 
attempt on our part to penetrate further up the jz/gha or cross 
into the Gez Valley by the Arpa Bel. That pass, they said, was 
exceedingly high and steep, and could not be crossed except 
with the help of yaks, which were not to be had. They were 
evidently surprised and rather alarmed at my knowing about 
it at all; I gathered that they kept the existence of the Arpa 
Bel as quiet as possible, for fear lest the Chinese should hear 


282 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


about and make it the main summer route to Tashqurghan. 
This would have meant the local people being forced to keep 
the track in repair, build bridges etc., as well as provide 
transport for officials using the route. I was interested to 
hear that two European travellers had been in the valley 
before, but neither of them had been further than the village 
of Pilal, 8 miles above Agh Aghzi; although the Oitagh 
Jilgha is easily accessible compared with the Kaying and other 
glens of the Alps of Qungur, no European had been to its head 
or across the Arpa Bel. | 
On gth September we continued our march. Seven miles 
above Agh Aghzi the valley divides, the left or Pilal branch 
being inhabited by Taghliks and the right or At Oinak branch 
by Kirghiz. Passing Pilal village with its one immense plane- 
tree the track led up a wide valley at the head of which towered, 
incredibly high and blazing white even through the haze, the 
mighty ice-wall and splintered peaks of Chakragil.1 Enticing 
‘alps ’”’ below the forests of fir which clothed the steep sides 
of the valley beckoned to us, and we pressed on full of excited 
anticipation. The villagers had prepared a shepherd’s hut 
for us two miles above Pilal at the mouth of the Arpa Jilgha 
which, ribbed with forest, led steeply up to the pass. But we 
would have none of it and camped two miles further up on a 
delectable meadow among thickets of fir, ash and rowan, 
perched high above the glacier stream and protected from the 
noonday sun by high wooded crags and pinnacles of limestone 
rock. Three ag-ois stood on another knoll just beyond and 
a crystal-clear stream bubbled out of mosses and grass near 
by. Here we spent three days, all we could spare, exploring 
the neighbourhood and making friends with the Taghliks. 
It did not require a trained observer to realize that the 
region in which we found ourselves was a perfect paradise alike 
for the geologist and for the naturalist. Its chief peculiarity 
is the relatively low elevation of the head of the Oitagh Jilgha. 
This forms a kind of recess or alcove in the precipitous north- 
east face of Chakragil, 14,000 feet high, into which the glaciers 
fall and thus push down their snouts to a much lower level than 
1This name seems to represent the words Chikiy Oghil or “‘ the 
shepherd station of Chikir.” I found a Chikir glen and pastures at 
the head of the Oitagh, on the north side. Stein gives the name 
“‘ Chakragil ’’ to the peak at the head of the Bostan Arche valley, some 
miles to the north-west, which he explored on his third journey. 


If a name is required for the whole massif, Chakragil would seem the 
most suitable one. 


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BACK TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 283 


do those of Qungur. The foot of the Oitagh Glacier is only 
8,800 feet above the sea, as against an average of 12,000 feet 
in the case of the smaller and much less steeply-pitched glaciers 
of the Qaratash basin. The volume of the Oitagh Glacier is 
really enormous, but its ice-fall is so steep that the whole 
glacier is barely 4 miles long. It has several remarkable 
features. One is its tributary, the Biil Ush, which butts into 
it from the north-west nearits foot, pushing it right across the 
valley and jamming it against the steep south-western side. 
A depression about 150 feet deep is thus formed above the 
bulge, and into this falls the moraine-stream, which travels 
under the ice for a mile and reappears from a remarkable cave 
in the black ice of the glacier-foot. Before joining the main 
glacier, the Bul Ush runs parallel with but about 2,000 feet 
immediately above it. A series of magnificent water-falls 
descends from the upper glacier to the lower at this 
point; one of them is at least 500 feet high and falls clear 
like the Swiss Staubbach, while another spouts out from a 
cleft in the cliff like tea from a pot. Yet another feature of 
the Oitagh glacier is its three parallel lateral moraines, ‘one 
of which has a double edge with a trough 2-4 feet deep 
between. 

The vegetation of the “‘ alcove’’ at the head of the Oitagh 
valley, though of the same Tien Shan type, is altogether richer 
than that of the Alps of Qungur, doubtless owing to the lower 
elevation and to the shelter afforded by the tremendous 
precipices which enclose it on every side but the north-east. 
We had no rain, but from the appearance of the vegetation, 
the accounts of the inhabitants and the close proximity of the 
ice-clad mass of Chakragil I should say that the precipitation 
is at least as heavy as that of Kaying Bashi. Rowan-trees 
are more common and have great bunches of berries the size 
of small cherries: wild currants abound, and the conifers 
grow more densely if not taller. One fallen giant I measured 
was I12 feet long. 

At the summer grazings the Turki “ Taghlik ” inhabitants, 
of Pilal occupy aq-ois like the Kirghiz, just as do the Tajiks 
of Sarikol who are racially totally different from either. They 
graze all kinds of stock, including yaks, which they breed for 
the Kashgar meat market, not for riding or milk. The Kash- 
gar military authorities put from 25 to 50 horses out to grass 
up the valley every summer. The inhabitants of the jilgha 
are assessed for revenue at 500 charaks of barley, which can 


284 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


be commuted at 12 tengas (2s.) per charak, the market price 
being 4 tengas.* 

Talking to the mountain people one occasionally gets 
amusing little side-lights on the difficulties of house-keeping 
in an ag-oi. Among the woods at Chikir Aghzi we came upon 
some families striking camp. They said they were moving 
to an open piece of ground only a mile lower down. 

‘What is wrong with this camping-ground? ”’ we asked. 

‘The mice have found us out and eat our bread,’’ was the 
reply. 3 

«Why don’t you keep cats to eat the mice? ” 

‘“ Because the cats would drink our milk! ”’ 

This was unanswerable, as anyone who had seen the interior 
of an aq-o1 and its carefully-guarded ‘ dairy’ ought to have 
realized. 

We crossed the Arpa Bel on 13th September, after spending 
the night at a chilly camping-ground above the highest fir- 
woods on the north-side. On the way up, when I was behind 
trying to take photographs, D. saw a pretty sight while she 
was waiting forme tocomeup. A herd of great shaggy yaks, 
unattended by any herdsman, came trooping down through 
the forest to drink at the stream. They came with such a 
rush, bringing earth and stones with them, that for a moment 
she thought it was an avalanche. They stood about in the 
water and on the grassy banks of the torrent, exactly like 
Highland cattle. They were still there when I came up, but 
my cortége disturbed them and they bunched together in the 
stream-bed as if awaiting attack, spoiling the picture. The 
dust-haze was worse than ever at the top of the pass, which I 
found to be 13,350 feet above the sea, and nothing whatever 
was visible of what would have been an unrivalled view. Both 
from the surveying and from the photographic point of view 
it was one of the worst pieces of luck I have ever had; for 
according to the calendar it was, or ought to have been, 
autumn and the clearest time of the year. 

The Arpa Bel is a decidedly stiff pass, 6,000 feet on either 
side without a break, but although nothing whatever has 
been done to the track it is not actually dangerous. Still, it 
was as well that we had hired from the Pilal people fifteen 


1The object is to encourage cultivation, even in pastoral country, | 
and thus increase the population. Similarly, the Chinese encourage 
the planting of trees in the plains. by collecting the land revenue partly 
in the form of timber. 


BACK TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 285 


donkeys to share the loads with our carrier’s ponies. We 
had one unfortunate casualty among the latter. One of them, 
though it was carrying less than half an ordinary load, showed 
signs of weakness on the way up. At a point where the 
track traversed the face of the Arpa Bel ridge this pony 
suddenly collapsed and rolled fifty yards down the mountain- 
side, load and all. The carrier, Amin Jan, was after it like 
a knife, closely followed by myself and two other men. The 
slope was steep but not precipitous, and we were able to stop 
the pony rolling further. It was unhurt and reached the top 
of the pass safely, its load carried by hand. On the way down 
the south-side Amin Jan put a very light load on it, thinking 
that there would be no more climbing and that all would be 
well. Unfortunately about 1,000 feet below the top there 
was a short but very steep ascent where the track rounded a 
ridge ; here the pony was again seized with staggers and fell 
150 feet, being killed instantaneously. There must have 
been something wrong with the pony, which had had three 
days’ rest and good grazing at Oitagh and was the only 
one to be affected by the pass; but we were sorry for Amin 
Jan, who wept bitterly at his loss, and we also regretted the 
spoiling of our own record. Until then we had not lost a 
single animal on any of our journeys. 

The following day we rejoined the Gez Dara at 7,600 feet 
by a glen called the Chuchul Jilgha which was agreeably full 
of red-legged partridge and pigeons. The road up the Gez 
gorges is well kept up by the Chinese and is provided with 
solid wooden bridges where necessary. It is stones, stones all 
the way and one’s horse must be walked every yard ; but there 
is no difficulty or danger whatever, unless (as occasionally 
happens) a bridge has been recently washed away. The grand- 
eur of fhe scenery is indescribable. The Gez, which here 
breaks through from the Pamirs between the great massifs of 
Qungur and Chakragil, is second only to the Yarkand River 
among the mountain streams of Kashgaria, and its cataracts in 
summer are a sight to behold. For 16 miles we followed the 
torrent which twisted and coiled among precipices rising higher 
and higher at every turn; in the evening at Khapa Gumbaz 
we looked straight up on one side to the summit of Qungur 
I, 15,500 feet above us and only 5 miles away, on the other to 
that of Chakragil not much less high. The air had cleared, 
two days too late for the Arpa Bel, and we saw the tops of the 
great massifs clearly. 


286 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


After spending a cold and uncomfortable night at 
Khafa Gumbaz (the name means “ Domes of Wrath’’) we 
emerged on to the Pamirs by the windy gate of Bulunkul and 
camped at a little mud fort south of the lake amid typical 
Pamir scenery. The garrison of this lonely post consisted 
of an out-at-elbows lieutenant and three men, all married to 
Kirghiz women. One of the soldiers interested me very much. 
A hawk-nosed, black-avised, alert little man in an enormous 
astrakhan hat appeared at the door of our ag-oi with an 
accordion in his hands, stood to attention smartly and entered 
without further ado. He told me he was a Russian Kirghiz 
from Tokmak in Semirechia, whence he had come three years 
before; helooked to memore like a Noghai or ‘‘ Tartar,’’ but 
might have been a Tartar-Kirghiz half-breed. He was very 
friendly and insisted on treating us to a concert on his “ gar- 
monie ’’ (the Russian form of the word ‘‘ harmonium ”’ which 
they use for accordion). On that wheezy old instrument 
he played various long and unmelodious tunes in our tiny 
ag-ot. It was a painful performance, but we hated to hurt 
his feelings and were most appreciative; he was so very 
obviously a spy from across the frontier, and in so lonely and 
desolate a spot we could well understand his joy at finding at 
last a job of work to do. 

During the next four days we wandered unhurriedly across 
the Lake District of the Chinese Pamirs, halting a day close 
to the north shore of the Little Qara Kul and another at 
Subashi. Here the Qungur and Muz Tagh Ata massifs stood 
round us in a vast amphitheatre, their dazzling domes and 
ridges of ice reflected exquisitely in the sapphire waters of the 
lakes. It was a pleasant time; the weather was perfect and 
the Kirghiz charming ; sport was good, the lakes and marshes 
teeming with geese, ducks, tealand snipe. Near the Qara Kul 
we were met by our old friend Nadir Beg, the tall and jovial 
‘“‘ British Watchman in Sarikol,’’ with a regular cortége of 
Kirghiz and the inevitable wayside tea-drinking. Earlier in 
the same day we had an interesting rencontre. A party of 
about twenty travel-stained and weather-beaten old men clad 
in ragged sheepskin cloaks and hats came riding northwards 
over the pamir. They proved to be Turki pilgrims returning 
from Mecca, the remnants of a party of fifty or more who had 
left Kashgar in April for the Holy Cities. They had had a 
terrible time, they said, on the high passes of the Hindu 
Kush between Tashqurghan and Chitral, and several of the 


BACK TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 287 


weaker pilgrims had been lost in the snow, thereby acquir- 
ing as much merit as if they had reached Mecca. They 
had nothing but praise for the authorities in Chitral, at 
Peshawar, on the Indian railways and at Bombay, where the 
official ‘‘ Protector of Pilgrims’ had put them on a specially- 
chartered steamer for Jeddah. In the Hijaz their troubles 
had recommenced, heat and disease claiming more victims 
than the snows of the Hindu Kush, besides which they had 
been held up for weeks by Bedouin robbers between Mecca 
and Medina. Returning by the same route, the survivors had 
found little or no snow on the passes and had had a compara- 
tively easy journey. 

Another interesting meeting was with a fine-looking old 
Kirghiz in a rich cloak and green turban at Subashi, This 
man, Khokan Beg, by name, told me that in Tsarist times he 
had been a great man in the Russian Pamirs, no less than the 
Mingbashi (Headman of a Thousand Households) of Great 
Oara Kul. Then a Pharaoh had arisen who knew him not, 
and he had migrated to Chinese territory with his wives and 
his sons and his daughters and flocks and his herds and every- 
thing that was his. He also told me that nine or ten years 
before he had entertained ‘‘a great British Consul and his 
wife from Kashgar,’’ after whom he inquired; these can 
have been no other than General Sir Percy and Miss Ella 
Sykes, who visited the Russian Pamirs in 1915. 

The Pamirs are well known to be the habitat of Ovis Polt, 
one of the three largest kinds of wild sheep in the world, the 
other two being O. Ammon, of Tibet, and O. Karelini, of the 
Tien Shan. Nowadays, however, good heads are very rare 
on the €hinese side of the frontier, especially in the more 
accessible regions. I gathered at Subashi, which used at one 
time to be a good centre, that most of the Kirghiz nowadays 
have guns of a sort and that they shoot down the sheep in- 
discriminately for food. The only corner of Chinese territory 
in which Ovis Poli are still to be found in some numbers is in 
the Qara Zak and neighbouring valleys, two or three marches 
north-west of Bulunkul. A pair of horns was brought to 
me which had come from the Russian side; evidently it was 
expected that I would want to take a trophy home with me, 
and would pay a good price. The measurements were 56 
inches in length and 15} girth. 

Even if there had been a chance of a stalk, as I had hoped, 
I should have had some difficulty in working it in, for thanks 


288 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


to the brilliant clearness of the weather my plane-table and 
cameras kept me very busy. The “rays” and telepanoramas 
I obtained of Qungur and the Shiwakte from this side proved 
afterwards of the greatest value to Major Mason in his com- 
pilation of my topographical material. 

The cold at nights was severe, and the development of my 
plates and films was carried on under difficulties. Two or 
three of my best views, including a perfect one of Muz Tagh 
Ata, reflected in the waters of the Oara Kul, were spoilt by 
the plates freezing before they were properly dry. Snow fell 
almost every night, and unless one laced up the door of one’s 
tent tightly before going to bed, there was apt to be a small 
snow-drift on one’s pillow in the morning. Whenever we 
could, we occupied ag-ois, because of the fire which could 
be made in the middle if there was enough burtsa or saxaul 
brushwood. The latter is not a good fuel for open fires, but 
makes excellent hot-ashes for the “‘ fire-bucket.”’ If it is to 
be used for a fire, it is advisable to lay the plants with their 
stalks outwards and the bushy part towards the middle, as 
they burn better thus. 

The Ulugh Rabat Pass (13,650 feet), immediately to the 
west of Muz Tagh Ata, consists merely of rolling downs with 
a barely perceptible watershed. When we crossed it on 2oth 
September it had a little snow on it—just enough to make 
me wish I had my skis with me and could wait for the next 
snowfall. Between November and April, when the snow lies 
everywhere, one could ski every yard of the 5 miles from the 
top of the pass to the Qarasu post, and most of the 12 miles 
on to Ghujak as well. The run down the north side of the 
pass would be shorter, but just as good. 

Passing the flourishing settlement of Tagharma, chief 
centre of the Tajiks, we reached Tashqurghan the following 
day, and after a couple of days’ halt went on to Yurghal 
Gumbaz on 24th September. On the latter march we spent 
the whole morning visiting Pir Imam Dad and our other 
Maulai friends of 1922 at Tughlan Shahr. D. was struck by 
the almost Italian vivacity and warmth of feeling shown by 
the Tajik women, compared with the more phlegmatic and 
reserved Kirghiz. In my dealings with the men, too, I found 
them much more excitable than either the Kirghiz or the 
Turkis of the plains. At Nadir Beg’s house D. was greeted 
enthusiastically by a vivacious, bright-eyed, alert little woman, 


1“ Geographical Journal,” June 1925, pp. 406-8 


BACK TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 289 


who had entertained her for ten minutes at Mintaka Aghzi 
on the journey up. This lady had then been living with her 
father, the Beg of Mintaka, but had since married into Nadir’s 
family. She rushed at D., patted her all over and began re- 
arranging her hair, which had suffered from the gallop across 
the meadows from Tashqurghan. She also kissed her when 
leaving. A quite poor Tajik woman at Yurghal Gumbaz 
told D. that she had had nine children, of whom seven had 
died. One of her daughters had been very beautiful. ‘‘ She 
died when she was still a bride,’”’ said the old lady. ‘‘ She 
was very lovely, her eyes were full of fire.1 She was so 
beautiful that I used to sit making clothes for her all day 
long.” 

The Tajiks use the word chokan for “ bride,” i.e. a wife 
who has not yet borne a child, whereas the Turkis as already 
mentioned reserve the term for an unmarried girl. Similarly 
the word jawan is used for a woman who has borne children, 
not asat Kashgar. A Tajik married woman wears big mother- 
of-pearl buttons over her ears, and at intervals of about two 
inches down each chach or braid of hair. The appetite of the 
Tajiks for medicine is in no way inferior to that of the Kirghiz. 
A lad was sent with us all the way to Yurghal Gumbaz to fetch 
back from our camp doses of castor-oil and anteczema which 
D. had prescribed for a baby and an elderly widow respectively. 
D. gave most careful and explicit instructions to the messenger, 
but it is quite likely that they rubbed the widow with the 
castor-oil and administered the anteczema internally to the 
DA yi) & 

Three days later we reached Lopgaz at the northern foot of 
the Mintaka Pass, 14,000 feet above the sea. It had been 
cold even at Paik, the stage before, and I had adjured the Beg 
who was looking after us, to be sure and provide good ag-ois 
and plenty of firewood. Imagine our disgust, therefore, when 
we arrived at the bleak and open Lopgaz camping-ground, 
just as the sun was dipping behind a snowy ridge, to find 
nothing but two miserable little huts, full of holes and smelling 
strongly, and not a scrap of firewood. The Beg was a long 
way behind with our loads, and there was nothing for it but 
to set to work and collect fuel for ourselves. All that was to 
be had in the valley was the tiniest growth of burtsa imagin- 
able, plants the size of face-sponges and damp at that. After 
an hour we had collected a heap about two feet high, which 


1The Turki word for fire (ut) is also used for love. 
19 


290 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


we handed over to the cook, Murad Shah, when the caravan 
arrived. Eventually the Beg’s men produced some better 
burtsa from far up the hill-side, and by nightfall we had 
enough for our own needs and those of our men. The ag-ois 
were impossible, but we had the tents pitched; D. sensibly 
went to bed in hers, and by nine o’clock we were dining snugly 
by her bedside off the usual three courses which Murad Shah 
never failed to turn out, however unpromising the circum- 
stances. Ahmad Bakhsh even managed to provide a “‘ fire- 
bucket ”’ for D. next morning, for which she was very grateful, 
as there were six inches of snow on the ground at dawn and a 
blizzard was in progress. We struck camp and hurried up 
the last 1,700 feet of the ascent as quickly as we could, for 
fear lest the pass should be blocked ; but it had cleared up by 
the time we reached the top and all was well, though the 
baggage-ponies had great difficulty in scrambling through the 
snow up the steep hill-face. The breakneck descent on the 
south side on. to the moraine of the Mintaka glacier was very 
difficult, for the sun was strong, and the ponies slipped and 
staggered in the slush of the melting snow ; we had to “ nurse ”’ 
them down very carefully, every one lending a hand. None 
the less we passed Gul Khwaja, where we had camped in 1922, 
and reached Murkushi before seven. After the fuel scarcity 
of the Pamirs—it is their chief drawback as a health-resort 
—the roaring bonfires we lit among the woods at Murkushi 
were a rare treat. 

Next day (gth October) we reached Misgar. Here it was a 
curious sensation to receive and send telegrams over a counter 
once more and listen to the tap-tap of Morse. We had come 
back to the nineteenth century, if not quite yet to the 
twentieth. Our only contretemps was the engulfing of three 
of our ponies in the quicksands of the Kilik stream between 
Murkushi and Runhil; we fished them out, but several of 
our boxes were immersed, including one containing all my 
papers. 

The six marches from Misgar to Ghalmit we covered in four 
days, finding the going very much better than in 1922. This 
was partly because there was more down-hill than up; partly 
because the Batura and Hussaini Glaciers were easier to cross 
owing to the lateness of the season; but mostly because the 
Mir of Hunza, with the assistance of a subsidy from the 
Kashmir State, had greatly improved the track. It was now 
scarcely anywhere less than two feet wide and reassuringly 


BACK TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 291 


solid, especially along the perpendicular sides of the Kulik 
and Khunjerab gorges. Between Pasu and Ghalmit we went 
out of our way to visit a beautiful little lake called Baurit, 
about half a mile long by a quarter broad. It lies in the lap of 
ancient moraines and is fringed at one end with orchards and 
tiny farms with terraced fields, the rest of its shore being 
wild and rocky. We found it covered with duck and teal, and 
there were a few snipe to be had as well. After I had bagged 
enough for our larder and a few birds for the men, we lunched 
delightfully under a boulder on a terrace above the lake. In 
the still waters were mirrored green and golden orchards, just 
beginning to be touched by autumn, above which towered cliffs 
and hanging glaciers, domes and pinnacles of ice three miles 
high. D. said that while I had been shooting she had seen 
from this point an immense avalanche come down from the 
top of the very highest peak, nearly 25,000 feet above the sea ; 
though it was 7 or 8 miles away, and not a sound could be 
heard, the whole face of the mountain seemed to be moving, 
a most awe-inspiring sight. 

We achieved the two marches from Ghalmit through the 
terrible Hunza gorges to Baltit in one day, arriving after 
eight o’clock at night. The coolies with our loads did not 
get in till next morning, and we had to sleep in our clothes 
at the Mir’s guest-house. Neither of us will ever forget our 
nocturnal reception at Baltit. The sandy-haired Heir 
Apparent and the tall Wazir met us with a large following, 
in the dark, at the castle of Altit and escorted us along the 
last mile of the road. As we approached the heights on 
which the Mir’s summer residence stands, the shouts and cries 
of welcome of his retainers echoed down to us through the 
darkness, and we could see many lights moving to and fro 
above. When, after a stiff ascent, we emerged on the top of 
the plateau, a torchlight procession formed up and preceded 
us to the Mir’s house, accompanied by wild strains from the 
State Band; and then we were shaking hands with the large 
and kindly Mir, and he was greeting us with obviously sincere 
smiles and words of welcome. 

In England one talks of autumn “ tints,’’ that word being 
suitable for the colouring of an autumn in Europe. It does 
not apply in the Hunza-Nagar country, where the fruit-trees 
turn to such hues of scarlet and golden yellow, vermilion and 
orange and even bright pink, as would require the strongest 
oil-colours to do them justice. To the massed hues of the 

19* 


292 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


foregrounds add tier beyond tier of the most stupendous snows 
and precipices, lofty river-cliffs bearing ancient castles on 
their crests, quaint piled-up stone villages surmounting neatly- 
terraced fields ; and you will wonder, as we did, how it is that 
no worthy artist of the West finds his way to scenes which 
would make his name world-famous, could he but transfer 
half their beauty and grandeur to his canvas. 

After a halt of three days at Baltit we moved over to the 
capital of the rival state of Nagar, crossing the river by a 
narrow swaying suspension bridge and filing 6 miles up the 
Nagar Valley towards the snowy Hispar. Here we were made 
very comfortable in a pleasant guest-house by the good Mir 
and his extraordinarily handsome son, Mahbub Ali. They 
met us on the shady polo-ground, near a little lake which 
reflected the stone houses of the village and the ancient wooden 
castle of the Mirs of Nagar. What a picuresque scene it 
was! The Mir and his sons rode thoroughbred Afghan polo 
ponies; behind them came the “ Subedar Sahib,”’ the Mir’s 
right-hand man, a jovial talkative person, to whom we took 
a great liking; then there were various dignitaries, ‘“‘ Trang- 
pas’’ or headmen of villages, ‘‘ Yerpas’”’ or tax-collectors, 
falconers with hawks at their wrists; in the background 
were the stalwart lads of the bodyguard dressed in grey woollen 
uniforms, dark-brown ibex-hide riding-boots, and the peculiar 
quoit-shaped head-gear of the country; last but not least, 
the musicians of the State Band blew furiously on their quaint 
pipes and banged their drums. 

The Nagar valley is not so grandiose as that of Hunza, for 
its river is much smaller and the snows of the Hispar at its 
head, though they cradle the biggest glaciers in the world out- 
side the Arctic Circle, do not show up as well as Rakaposhi 
and the other giants which tower above Baltit. But there is 
an intimate and cosy “ feel’’ about Nagar; it is picturesque 
in a less magnificent way, being broken up by village-crowned 
backbones of rock into secluded basins and “‘ happy valleys ”’ 
full of green fields and foliage. There are other differences 
between the two rival States. Pears grow best in Nagar, 
grapes in Hunza. The people of the former State are ortho- 
dox Sunnis, those of the latter Maulais. Hunza still keeps 
up the connection with China; Nagar looks rather to India. 
Most interesting of all, among the Nagaris, there is more that 
takes one back to the remote past than there is in Hunza. 
You see among them more of the Hellenic type of features, 








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BACK TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 293 


modified indeed by a liberal infusion of the Pathan nose. 
At Baltit I do not remember the children playing with bows 
and arrows, whereas in Nagar not only does every small boy 
carry a bow, but as mentioned before, the ancient Parthian 
archery on horseback is still regularly practised. 

The Mir held a gala day of polo, tent-pegging and mounted 
archery in our honour. The previous evening the Band 
played loudly for an hour; this was a signal dating from the 
bad old days, when the men of Nagar used to be summoned 
for a raid by wild strains from the Mir’s musicians, each 
village passing on the call to the next. Nowadays reigns the 
pax Britannica, and the tocsin only sounds for polo. The 
Mir lent me a beautiful Badakhshani stallion and made me 
tent-peg and play polo, but I refused to try my hand with 
the bow and arrows ; I preferred to watch with D. the young 
Nagaris thundering past, their hair and shirts fluttering in 
the wind, and hear them shout with joy as they neatly planted 
their arrows on or near the little silver mark. Whoever hits 
the ‘‘ peg’ with lance or arrow gets it, and at least a dozen 
trophies were distributed afterwards by the Mir. I am quite 
certain my lance-point went nowhere near the “ peg,’’ but 
the polite Mir, with many congratulations, presented me with 
a small rosette stamped out of beaten silver; there was a 
nick in one edge where he gravely informed me that I had 
grazed it. 

One day we were conducted by the Subedar Sahib far up 
the valley to a broad cultivated basin among the mountains, 
called Hopar. Many charming peeps we had on the way, of 
tiny hamlets in sunlit valleys, each with its wooden mosque, 
amid walnut foliage and the orange and vermilion of the 
orchards, of threshing-floors with men and women threshing 
on them and fields dotted with sheep, goats and the little 
black cows of the country. At the further end of the Hopar 
basin the Subedar Sahib had a surprise in store for us. We 
suddenly came out on a cliff-top overlooking the most awe- 
inspiring glacier I have ever seen. It was the Kepal, one of 
the great glaciers of the Hispar, a ‘‘ sea of ice’ indeed, which 
swept down from towering snows in tremendous curves of 
glittering serac, striped with long lines of rock-debris. The 
Kepal glacier is still slowly eating away the Hopar basin, 
against which it presses ; we climbed down on to a section of 
cliff with the ruins of cottages on it, which had subsided 
thirty or forty feet, evidently undercut by the ice. 


294 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


After bidding the hospitable Mir of Nagar farewell we 
marched down the Nagar river to the Hunza valley once more. 
Instead, however, of crossing to Baltit we kept to the south 
side of the valley which is in Nagar territory and commands, 
if possible, even finer views than the north. At the Nurteza- 
bad bridge we rejoined our 1922 route, spending the night as 
before at the Arcadian village of Minapin. At Chalt we stayed 
two nights, as I was anxious to explore the beautiful Chaprot 
nullah and obtain from it a long-coveted photograph of Raka- 
poshi’s sword-point peak. Fate and the weather were kind, 
and we spent a most enjoyable and successful day among pine- 
woods high above the picturesque fortress-village of Chaprot. 

From Gilgit, profiting by our experiences of 1922, we hired 
mules for the whole journey to Bandipur instead of relying 
on the transport available from stage to stage. As a result 
we covered the distance in eleven days instead of fourteen, 
without hurrying. It was curious to travel in comfort and 
luxury down the Srinagar road, with transport running like 
clockwork, plentiful supplies, a well-engineered six-foot track 
and palatial dak-bungalows at the end of each absurdly short 
stage, and to think what “‘heavy weather”? we had made 
of the same journey in 1922. So much does relativity count 
for, and the sense of proportion developed by life and travel 
in High Asia. The Burzil Pass, which we crossed on 23rd 
October, seemed very small beer after the Arpa Bel, or even 
the Mintaka, while as for the Tragbal, it was merely a pleasant 
grassy ridge among pine-woods. 

Embarking at Bandipur late on the night of the 26th 
October, after a long final march, we were poled across the 
Wular to the lake-port of Sopor. Here the following after- 
noon we boarded the twentieth century in the shape of a 
large motor-lorry, which rattled ourselves, our baggage and 
three of our men in a couple of hours to Srinagar, 35 miles 
away. It was amusing to watch the effect of the said twentieth 
century on an intelligent Kashgari like Hafiz, who had never 
seen so much as a Ford in his life. As we jerked wheezily 
forward at three miles an hour through the crowded bazaar he 
murmured with goggling eyes, “ Ajaib bir nersa shu!’’ (This 
is a wonderful thing!) Later, on the main road after dark, 
a car with headlamps lit dashed past us; Hafiz’ excited com- 
ment was, “It’s got eyes!’’ One day at Srinagar we took 
him and Sangi Khan (to whom also it was allnew) for a drive 
in a powerful touring car lent us by our kind host, Sir John 


BACK TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 295 


Wood, the Resident in Kashmir. When the chauffeur let 
her out along the smooth poplar-fringed road to Dachigam, 
Hafiz, who shared the back seat with D. and myself, turned 
to us and said, ‘‘ When he goes fast, the trees come running, 
running!’ 1 

There was much to do and very little time to do it in at the 
Kashmir capital, for I had to fit in visits to headquarters at 
Delhi and to the Survey of India at Simla before we sailed 
from Bombay. One of our chief preoccupations was finding 
suitable homes for the ponies. Tutankhamen had already 
been presented by D. to our friend the Subedar Sahib at 
Nagar, of whose children he was to be the pampered mount. 
A British officer of my acquaintance at Chilas bought three 
of the ponies, including ‘‘ Polu pony,” from which woolly but 
staunch little beast Iwas more than loath to part. The black 
Badakhshi stallion also went to an English home, and D. 
made a present of her beloved Ferghana gelding to a lady 
who she knew would be kind to it. Then. there were the men 
to be paid off, Hafiz and Sangi Khan and Murad Shah and 
Yakub, and their return journey arranged, quickly, before 
the snows of winter closed the passes. Ahmad Bakhsh, our 
only Indian servant, was to come with us as far as Bombay. 
These and other details, such as packing and repacking, selling 
off our worn and battered kit and so on, gave us little time 
to think. 

Then there came a morning when everything was done and 
a big touring car stood ready to take us down the road to 
Rawal Pindi. The four men who were to go back stood in 
the roadway outside the Residency gate to see us off. They 
had already said good-bye to D., who sat with Ahmad Bakhsh 
in the car, a little way up the road, and nowmyturncame. I 
began to say something to them in Turki about having made 
arrangements for their transport and rations as far as Gilgit, 
and hoping that they would have a good journey ; and then 
I caught sight of the expression of gloom upon their honest, 
weather-beaten faces, and I realized suddenly what it all 
meant. No more would the stout-hearted cheerful Hafiz 
take the long trail with us on his trusty Kalmuck steed, always 
at hand to make our ways smooth with his tact and common- 
sense. No more would the strong arm of Sangi Khan, nature’s 
gentleman if ever there was one, be ready to support his 
‘““Mem-Sahib ”’ over difficult mountain-paths. No more would 

Turki zhugurup keladur. 


296 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


the unassuming Murad Shah cook miraculous meals for us in 
the most unpropitious circumstances. No more would the 
faithful Yakub toil with us over hill and dale, river and sand- 
dune, desert and oasis, urging on the phlegmatic Tutankhamen 
with raucous but persuasive cries. 

A lump rose in my throat and I stood looking at them, 
unable to say more. Then Hafiz relieved the tension by 
striding forward and grasping my hand. They all shook 
hands in silence and turned away towards their boat. A 
moment later we were spinning down the road to India and 
home. 

The last link with Kashgar was broken. 




















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Published by permission of the Royal Geographical Society. 


eS Sa oubhan 
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CHINESE TURKISTAN 
AND ADJACENT TERRITORIES 


Compiled by the Royal Geographical Society from surveys | 
made during the explorations of Sir Aurel Stein, K.C.LE. 
published by the Survey of India on the Scale 1/500,000 


and from other sources: with route in red to illustrate the 
journeys of M” C.P. Skrine 1922-24. 


Scale 1/6,000,000 
MILES 10 50 ° t 200 MILES 


KILOMETRES 100 50 9 100 200 300 KILOMETRES 


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APPENDIX 


NOTE ON PHOTOGRAPHY IN CENTRAL ASIA 


HE following details may be of interest to those who, like 

myself, have a taste for landscape and other photography 

“ off the beaten track.”” I must explain here that I have 

not studied the theory of the subject at all, and do not 

pretend to be able to tell experts anything they did not know 

before. Photographical processes do not interest me; I only did 

my own developing and enlarging in Central Asia from what I 

regarded, for reasons given below, as dire necessity. My one object 
was to get pictures. 

Landscape, particularly mountain scenery, being my especial 
hobby, I concentrated chiefly on the problem of obtaining a uniform 
density from top to bottom of the negative. For this purpose I 
used an adjustable filter shaded from orange at the top to practically 
plain glass at the bottom. This could be used at strengths varying 
from 2 or 3 to 40 or 50 times, according to the length of exposure 
practicable. Used at full strength it cut out over go per cent. of 
the blue and ultra-violet rays from the upper part of the field, and 
proportionately less from the middle and lower parts. This pre- 
vented clouds and snow-capped peaks, etc., from being ‘‘ swamped ”’ 
by the blue of the sky, and at the same time gave proper values 
for the middle distance and foreground. In this connection it may 
be of interest to note that in the plains and lower hills of the Tarim 
Basin I found a higher strength of filter to be necessary than in the 
intensely clear air of the high ranges and of the Pamirs; this I 
ascribe to reflection from the fine loess dust which is never entirely 
absent from the atmosphere of the Basin, even when it cannot be 
detected by the eye. 

I used two cameras, both battered but trusty pre-War instruments, 
one taking postcard-size plates, the other quarter-plate roll-film. 
Both had between-lens shutters and extending bellows, thus enabling 
me to take long-focus views wherever proper foreshortening was 
essential. In the plate camera I used either rapid orthochromatic 
or fine-grain slow plates according to the subject. 

By far my most difficult subjects were the distant visions of snowy 
mountains seen—only too seldom—from the plains. I “ collected” 

297 


298 CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


the great ranges of Central Asia, and spent much time, energy and 
material in their pursuit ; specimens of my telepanoramas of the 
Kashgar Range, Kunlun and Tien Shan will be found opposite 
pp.116and 258. After many failures, I discovered that the only way 
in which I could obtain any results at all was by using slow plates and 
the filter described above at fullstrength. The best, in fact the only, 
time of day for the more distant telepanoramas I found to be from two 
to three hours after sunrise. The only telephoto lens I could use 
with my plate camera was a light small-aperture instrument 
magnifying 4 diameters and therefore requiring 16 times the normal 
exposure. The.combined effect of all the-above factors was that 
the length of exposure needed for each plate was relatively enormous, 
usually between 4 and 8 minutes. This meant that the taking of 
a telepanorama of 5 or 6 plates occupied anything up to an hour, 
during the whole of which time the sun was rising and the light 
strengthening steadily. Each successive plate, therefore, required 
a slightly shorter exposure than its predecessor ; the progressive 
reduction I applied was about 8 per cent. for each plate. The 
problem was still further complicated by the varying illumination 
of different sections of the same panorama according to the incidence 
of the sun’s rays relatively to the camera. When photographing 
round from South West to South, for example, a shorter exposure 
was required for the south-western end of the panorama, on which 
the sun’s rays fell more directly, than for the southern. 

Perhaps I may be permitted to offer a few words of advice to those 
who travel with a camera in Central Asia: 

(1) Take a tank developing outfit with you, if no more, and 
develop your own plates or films in camp before you go to bed, 
or at any rate during halts at towns. When developing in camp, 
use spirit for drying the negatives ; I did not know about this plan, 
and I consequently lost many pictures from the emulsion freezing, 
receiving a deposit of dust or being otherwise damaged while drying 
at night in my tent. If there is no convenient running water handy, 
use “ hypo-killer.” 

Except for a spare tin basin, my whole developing outfit for both 
plates and films fitted into a locally-made wooden box 16” x 12” x 8” 
weighing about $lb. It is a nuisance to have to do one’s own 
developing, but the amount of waste and (more important) loss 
of desirable pictures thereby prevented is enormous. It must be 
remembered that it is quite useless to send plates or packed films 
from one to two months’ journey for development ; even roll-film 
is not immune from deterioration in such circumstances. Apart from 
this, it is almost impossible to acquire the experience of local light- 
conditions and other factors necessary for really satisfactory pictures, 
if you do not see your results until several months after exposure. 

(2) Photograph landscape only under the best possible conditions 
of light and atmosphere. Do not waste time and material on scenes, 


APPENDIX 299 


however well they “ compose,” which are imperfectly lighted, or 
on days when there is an appreciable amount of dust-haze in the air. 
Wait if possible until the sun’s rays fall at right angles to a line 
drawn from the camera to the centre of the subject. 

These may appear counsels of perfection; but my experience is 
that in the aftertime, views taken in poor light or on hazy though 
sunny days do not receive a second glance in comparison with those 
secured under the favourable conditions described above. 

(3) When photographing the people of the country, conceal the 
camera and your intentions up to the last moment, if not beyond it. 
One natural, unselfconscious picture of native life is worth twenty 
“groups”’ or posed photographs of individuals; but it is also 
much more difficult to secure. I found the Turki, like the Persian, 
extraordinarily sharp at detecting the presence of a photographer. 
Directly you produce a camera of any size ina Central Asian street, 
the men all spring to attention and the women either bolt like 
rabbits or cover their faces and cower into corners. For example, 
I “ hunted ” street story-tellers and their audiences for weeks before 
securing the photograph which appears opposite p.204. The above 
does not, however, apply to the Kirghiz of the mountains who, men 
and women alike, are not in the least shy or self-conscious and are 
perfectly easy to photograph. 





INDEX 


Afghanistan—39, opium-smug- 
gling from, 76 (note) 

Aghalistan Pass—149, 274 

Ahmad Bakhsh, butler-valet—3, 9, 
13, 290, 295 

Akhtur Bazaar—g4, 136 

Altunluk—g4, 134; “the golden 
village,”’ 144, 166 

Altun Tagh—mountains of gold, 
116 ; height of, 253 ; a branch of 
the Kunlun, 254; track over, 
254; gold washing, 255 

Amroha—best servants from, 3 

Andijan—z2 ; Russian Railway to, 
74 

Aqsai Davan—146, 166 

Aqsu—Civil Wars, 58; an Uigur 
city, 205; its fat kine, 210; 
journey to, 218; stay at Old 
City, 233; strange features of 
its cliffs, 234; the City of the 
Dead, 234; Yakub Beg’s for- 
tress and hospital, 235 ; cheap- 
ness of life, 236 ; New City, 236; 
departure from, 238; mysteri- 
ous movements, 249; Taoyin 
in command, 263 

Arpa Bel Pass—281 ; en route to 
Gez Qaraul, 281, 282; height 
above sea, 284 

Astore—language spoken in, 8; 
position, 10 ; adventure at, 14; 
river crossing, 15 

Ata’abad—3o 


Bai—228; four days at, 231; 
bad-mannered Tunganis, 232 
Baltit—5, 25; old castle of, 25-6; 

polo, 27; sword-dance, 27-8 ; 
“nocturne ” at, 291 
Bandipur—6, 7, 10, 294 


Bash Kupruk—g95-6, 99; second 
visit, 135 

Basikul lake—42 

Batura glacier—31, 290 

Boghaz Langar—251 ; 
above Keriya, 253 

British Museum—collecting for, 
170-1 (note); Report on Per- 
sian MS., 175 

Bulchidas—3o0 

Bu Mariam’s shrine—122 

Burrard, Sir Sidney—theory as to 
water supply of Chinese Central 
Asia, I9I 

Burzil Pass—6, 10; height of, 11 ; 
hut, 12, 294 


height 


Cathay—origin of name, 58 ; power 
of, 59; ancient silk road, 121 
Chakragil Massif—42, 166, 282, 

283, 285 
Chalt—diary begins at, 23, 294 
Chaprot—nullah, 294 
Chat—132, 133 
Chichiklik—Eastern route, 41, 44 ; 
camp at, 46 
Chighmen Jilgha—129 
Chillum, position of—13 
Chimghan Jilgha—g2 (note) ; diffi- 
culties of reaching, 97, IoI, 149, 
273 
China—persistence of claim to 
Eastern Turkistan, 59 ; officials’ 
politeness and hospitality, 63 ; 
regular postal service, 65 ; Post- 
masters, 65; dinners and table- 
games, 84 ; young officials, 123 ; 
great silk trade route, 169; 
ghosts, 188; treatment of the 
Wangs, 223; military post and 
opium-smugglers, 225; temple 


301 


302 


at Aqsu and the divining plan- 
chette, 237; ancient military 
road, 240 (note); play-acting 
in, 245; dress prescribed for 
Turki Ambans, 247; control of 
gold-washing, 255; conduct of 
the civil war, 267; satisfaction 
of Chinese, 269; encourage- 
ment of tree-planting, 284 (note) 

Chinese Turkistan—languages 
spoken in, 8; anthropology, 167 ; 
migrations and conquests, 168 ; 
a channel of civilization, 168 ; 
Stein’s discoveries in, 169; de- 
cay of its arts and crafts, 172; 
carpets, 173;  folk-lore, 175; 
legends of the Four Imams, 176 ; 
chronicles and shrines, 182; 
superstitions, 184 ; keeping Ra- 
mazan, 184; customs of, 194; 
education in, 194 ; the marriage- 
market, 195; divorce laws, 196, 
200; wedding laments, 196; 
matrimonial troubles follow, 
201 ; married woman’s “‘ coming 
of age,’’ 202; penalties of mar- 
riage with infidels, 203; funeral 
rites, 204 ; musical instruments 
and players, 206-7; songs and 
ballads translated, 207-214; 
proverbs, 215-17 ; Chinese Mos- 
lems or Tungans, 231 ; Moslem 
Ambans in, 247; a 180-mile- 
long snowy range, 260 

Chingiz Khan invades Kashgaria 

Chini Bagh—local name for Con- 
sulate-General, 54, 55; its staff, 
63-4 

Chitral route—4; immigrants 
from, 62 ; murder of a traveller, 
139-40 

Chong Qaraul fort—51 

Chopkana Pass—102, 163 

Chulak Langar, the ‘‘ Lame Serai”’ 
—III 

Chumbuz Jilgha—131, 132 

Dafdar—37; colony of Wakhis, 
39 

Dal Lake—-g 

Darshart—camp at, 46 


\ 


CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


Dashkin—wooded heights of, Io; 
stop at, 15 

Deasy, Capt. H.—at Polu, 256 
(note) 

Domoko—1I5, 118; photograph- 
ing a “ Stein Site,’”’ 170, 189 
Dulanis—race of unknown origin, 
123; the women, 123; lazy 
men, 124; again among them, 

241 


Ferghana—74 
Fitzmaurice, Mr. N.—7 


Gez River—4z2, 102; valley and 
““ Nine Passes ” route, 104, 280 ; 
good road up the Gorges, 285 

Ghalmit—z24, 30, 290-1 


Ghulkin—30 . 

Gilgit—route, 4, 5; language 
spoken, 8; road, 16; arrival 
PRON Cp Mpeme a: EG wile tahoe Cr Ween cos WE 7 9 (-' 


Polu,’”’ 20; mail service to 
India, 64 

Gircha—32 

Gobi—its meaning, 112; en- 


croachment of desert sand, 112 

Goma—5, 106; halt at, 111; the 
Pigeon Shrine, 112; origin of 
name, 177 

Grenard, Monsieur—La haute Asie, 
175-6, 178 (note) ; collection of 
“ tazkiras,’’ 179-80, 186 (note) ; 
witch-doctoring and ancestor- 
worship, 187 

Gul Khwaja—34, 290 

Guhyal and little Guhyal—3o 

Gurais, dangers of—6; language 
spoken, 8; river, Io 


Hafiz, orderly—13, 14; story ofa 
watch, 48 ; Consular escort, 64 ; 
introduction to a motor lorry, 
294 ; good-bye to, 295 

Harding, Mr. H. I.—7, 51; valu- 
able assistance from, 63; 
Chinese scholarship, 67 

Hatu Pir—descent of, 10 

Hawking—rare white hawks, 209 
(note) ; at Qara Buluk, 232-3 

Hsieh Tai—67 ; son of Ma Titai, 
264; death of, 265 


INDEX 


Hsuantsang—a famous Buddhist 
pilgrim, 39 

Hunza—its men as looters, 4, 22; 
language spoken, 8; origin of 
race, 18; polo, 19; Chinese 
suzerainty asserted, 19-20; 
chronic wars with Nagar until 
conquest of both States by Col. 
A. Durand’s expedition, 22; 
present Mir, 22 ; his heir-appar- 
ent, 24; reception at the Court 
of Hunza, the State Band, 26 

Hussaini or Sasaini glacier—30, 
290 


Id festival—at Kashgar, 137 
Jhelum valley—3 


Karakash—prosperity of, 60 

Karakoram—route vid, 4, 19 

Karchanai stream—36 

Karghalik—5 ; moneylenders, 62 ; 
halt, 106, 109; cavalry band, 
110; dinner graced by ladies, 
IIo 

Kashgar—1, 2; Tibetan attack 
on, 20; snowy range of, 
42, 57; first view of plain, 51 ; 
arrival at, 54; charm of morn- 
ing sounds, 56; life at, 61, 63, 
67; how messages arrive, 64 ; 
Russian representation at, 66 ; 
Tsarist Consul-General, 66; his 
bridge-building, 73; Islamic 
culture, 74; bazaars, 77; food 
prices, 78; fishing, 79; storing 
vegetables, 80; winter, I21; 
extension of appointment, 128 ; 
the colour note of, 137; legend 
of its conversion to Islam, 177 ; 
witch-doctors, 186; wedding 
party, 197, 198-9; the least 
medieval of the Six Cities, 
205; ‘* purdah,’’ party at, 206 ; 
melons, 236; exciting news from, 
258; fighting at, 264; shots 
over the Consulate, its imper- 
turbable mistress, 264; order 
restored, 267; joy of inhabi- 
tants, 268; floods, 270; fare- 
well tea-drinking, 279-80 


303 


Kashgaria—its stormy history, 
- 58; intellectual stagnation, 61 ; 
Consul-General’s work in, 62; 
Chinese policy towards Soviets, 
66; game-birds, 68 ; wild dogs, 
69; climate, 71; Russian ap- 
proach to, 73; strangers at, 74 ; 
melons, 79; temporary marri- 
ages, 126; opening for a den- 
tist, 126; early summer, 137; 
the 


“buran,’’ 137; ballads, 
211; Mecca pilgrims’ return, 
286 


Kashka Su Pass—height of, 49 

Kashmir—z2; State’s interest in 
the Leh road, 4 

Kaying Jilgha—g7; Kirghiz, 99 ; 
ladies’ tea-party, 102; picnics, 
103; summer visit to the 
“Happy Valley,’ 148, 149; 
“Glen Scotland,” 152; its in- 
habitants, 154; local products, 
154; Aq-ois and their ways, 
155-6; health of inhabitants, 
157; efficiency of the women 
and laziness of the males, 158 ; 
fauna, 158-9; flora, 159; fare- 
well feast, 160; marriage cus- 
toms, 161; divorce, 162; visit 
to a lonely eyrie, 163; a week 
at Kaying Bashi, 273 

Kepek Bel Pass—273, 275 

Keriya—distance from Kashgar, 
65, 115; coarse grass of oases, 
116; halt at, 117; its remote- 
ness, 117 ; awkward curiosity of 
inhabitants, 118 ; its reputation 
for gallantry, 210; a robber- 
hunt, 250; the Pelican in the 
Wilderness, 251 

Kew, Royal Botanical Gardens 
—our gift of a small collection 
of flora, 159 

Khaibar—30, 32 

Khotan—carpets, 5; civil wars, 
58; road to, 105; the King- 
dom of Jade, 112; halt at, 112 ; 
a strong Chinese ruler, 113 ; old 
City, 113; -dinner,: 114; ~ex- 
Amban’s mother, 114 ; Museum 
finds at, 170; ancient capital’s 
site, 171; embroideries, 173 ; 


304 


lost arts, 174; legends, 180; 
the least altered of the Six 
Cities, 205; a Khotan litany, 
217; Ramazan at, 248; blue 
eggs, 254; ‘‘ At the sign of the 
Yak,’ 258; farewell to, 259 

Khunjerab River—32 

Kichik Qaraul—outpost of Kash- 
garia, 50 

Kilik River—32-3 

Kinkol River—50; valley of, 131 

Kirghiz—women, 36-37 ; race, 4I ; 
our first tea-party, 46; doctor- 
ing visitors, 47; frontispiece 
sketched, 47 ; ladies’ head-gear, 
to2; charm of, 103; difference 
from Dulanis, 123; as farmers, 
129, 130, 132 ; interior of Aq-oi, 
132; wedding feast, 133; hos- 
pitality of the poorest, 147; 
summer and winter flittings, 
153 ; revenue collection, 154; of 
Qizil Tagh, 157; of the Tien Shan, 
219; hawking in the Tien Shan, 
232-3 

Kizmak Pass—131, 132-3 

K6ék Déng—164 

K6k Moinak Pass—height, 46 

Kucha—embroidery on _ velvet, 
173-4; an ancient UVigur City, 
205; the Wangs, 223 

Kunlun Mountains—its height, 
253; black eagles, 257; telepano- 
rama, 258 


Ladakh, or “‘ Little Tibet ’—4; 
Leh its capital, 4; the Seven 
Passes Road, 74, 254 

Loess—its peculiarities, 57 ; in the 
Gobi Desert, 112; the cliffs at 
Aqsu City, 233 

Lop Desert—38 ; new district of, 
115; salt-encrusted sea of, 117, 
192; its unconventional Am- 
ban, 248-9 

Lyall, Colonel R.—270 ; choice of 
his Chinese name, 278-9 


Macartney, Sir George—popular- 
ity and respect gained by, 63 
Maralbashi—prosperity of, 60; 

Merket subdivision, 60 (note) ; 


CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


postal service, 65; its “ tiger,”’ 
75; its active Amban: 122; its 
jungles, 128; visit to, 242; Mr. 
Chin’s swamp-deer, 242 
Marghilan, the Silver City—74 
Mason, Major K.— Survey of 
India, 276, 288 
Ma Titai—6o, 77; his tyrannical 
sway, 85; his luncheon party, 
86, 87 ; Consulate returns feast, 
88 ; exploitation and industrial 
‘‘ enterprises,’’ 261, 262 ; neme- 
sis, 263-4 ; attack on his palace, 
266; execution, 266; fate of 
harem, 267 
Merket—121 ; description of, 123 
Merki Davan Pass—47 
Minapin—24 ; Arcadian village, 294 
Minimarg—haunt of bears, I1 
Mintaka Pass—5; crossing the 
“ Roof of the World,’’ 33-7 
Murkushi—33, 34, 290 
Muzart Pass—224 ; Valley, 227 
Muz Tagh Ata—39; height and 
beauty of, 42; vast amphi- 
theatre, 286 


Nadir Beg—35, 44 

Nagar—trivalry with Hunza, 22; 
difference in religious allegiance, 
23; the Mir, 292; gala polo at, 


293 

Nanga Parbat—height of, 6; view 
of, 17, 42 

Nazaroff, Mr. Paul—gz2, 99, 104 

Nystrém, Dr., Yarkand Mission 
experiences as dentist, 127-8 


Oghlak, the game of : other names 
and description, 160 

Oitagh Jilgha—its beauty, 281 ; 
remoteness, 282; glacier, 283; 
the waterfall of Bul Ush, 283 

Opal village and shrine—181 


Paik—36 ; height, 37, 289 
Pamirs—first sight of, 35; Kir- 
ghiz, 36; highest point, 277; 
the ‘‘ Windy Gate,” 286; wild 
sheep, 287 ; scarcity of fuel, 290 
Pasu—glacier, 31, 291 
Peking—post from, 65 
Pichan—220 


INDEX 


Polu—a sing-song at, 207; visit 
to, 253; relative importance, 
254; Tibetan strain in, 254; 
gold-washing, 256; Captain 
Deasy at, 256 

Posgam—prosperity of, 60; halt 
at, 108; return to, I19 

Price, Mr. Gerard—6, 47, 52 


Qarakul Lake—42 

Qaranghu Tagh—Mountains of 
Darkness, 253 

Qarashahr—the Tungan City, 205 

Qaratash River—g1I, 92, 94; val- 
ley of, 104 ; attempting the pas- 
sage, 128, 129, 138; the daily 
flood, 144 

Qaratash Valley—131; gorges, 
133; junction with river, 134; 
previously unexplored, 134 

Qizil Tagh, or ‘“‘ Red Mountains ” 
—50, 128-9 ; highest Pass, 131 ; 
partridges, 131; its Kirghiz 
dying out, 157 

Qizqurghan—38 

Qum Ariq River—233, 237; cross- 
ing the ford, 239 

Qumrabat | Padshahim—shrine, 
112; legends,180 ; battle of, 181 

Qungur Massif—42, 92, 98; first 
photographs of eastern side of, 
101, 104; hiding its eastern face, 
165; telepanorama, 166; farewell 
visit to the Alps of, 270; fixing 
position of ‘‘Qungur II,” 277,285 


Rakaposhi—height of, 24, 42 
Rangkul Pamir—42 

Raskam—32 

Roosevelt, Mr. Kermit—224 (note) 


Saman—9g5, 145, 165 
Sangi Khan—Consular orderly, 28, 
64 ; at Srinagar, 294; good-bye 
to, 295 
Sardar Koti—position of, 12 
Sarhad—1, 2 
Sariqol—language spoken, 8; the 
_  “ Watchman”’ of, 35, 286; ro- 
mance of, 38, 39; range, 39; 
prominence of, 41; unpopular 
with Chinese officials, 42 ; Am- 
ban, 43; Homo alpinus, 167 


305 


Sart villages—229 ; an unfriendly 
Beg, 229 

Sasaini (see Hussaini), 

Sasik Tika—solitary Aq-oi’s tra- 
gedy, 50 

Semirechia—Soviet régime, 220 

Sharif Beg—35 

Shimsal route—32 

Shins—Indian tribe of, 19; slave 
traffic, 22 

Shiwakte — position, 92; first 
sight of, 97-8, 100; telephoto- 
graphing, 133; fixing the sum- 
mits of, 151 ; the peak of ‘‘ Shi- 
wakte I,” 273; climbing the 
Kepek Pass, 274 

Sinkiang—re-conquest by China, 
59; isolation of, 59; security 
in, 60; prohibition of opium, 76 
(note) ; a famous Chinese plea- 


saunce, 222; Northern dis- 
trict’s sport, 224; Douma of, 
247 


Soviet Government of Russia— 
not recognized till 1925, new 
Trade agreement, 66 (note) ; 
régime in Semirechia, 220 

Srinagar—route, 4; house at, 7 

Stein, Sir Aurel—works quoted, 18, 
19, 20, 38-9, 41, 47, 58 (note) ; 
consultation with, 91, 96, 105; 
his name remembered in Kho- 
tan, 115; his ‘‘sites,’’ 118 ; visit 
to OQizil Tagh, 128 ; blank patch 
in his map, 131; references to, 
167-9, 174 (note), 190-1; his 
Tien Shan route, 228 ; theories of 
race origin of Polu people, 254, 
255 (note). 

Suget Valley—129; its women, 
130; its pastures, 130 

Sykes, Miss Ella—references to 
works of, 105 (note), 123, 155 
and note; 160 (note), 182 
(note) ; Khokan Beg of Subashi, 
287 

Sykes, Sir Percy—2; references 
to works of, 123, 182 (note) ; 
the guest of Khokan Beg, 
287 

Swedish Missions at Kashgar—65 ; 
at Yarkand, 126 





306 


Tajiks, language of—4o0; origin, 
41 ; two ladies, 44; Nadir Beg, 
44; Home alpinus, 167; second 
visit to him, 288 

Takla Makan Desert—105, 109, 
III; treasure-seekers, 112, 189 ; 
approach to, 121 ; crossing a sec- 
tion of, 122 ; Stein’s archzologi- 
cal discoveries in, 169; legend- 
ary lore, 189-90 

Tangitar Gorge—46 

Tao Tai—Hunza tribute to, 21 
(see Taoyin) 

Taoyin—of Kashgar, 53-4 ; repre- 
sents Governor, 62; known as 
Tao Tai, 65; ceremonial visits, 
67; as host, 82 

Tarim Basin, desert poplar of—50 ; 
Indian residents, 61 ; river, 109 ; 
passage of nomads over, 168; 
conversion to Islam, 179; infant 
mortality, 193; dust-haze, 228; 
game, 231 

Tashqurghan—35, 39, 40 ; Russian 
occupation, 41; beauty of, 42; 
the last lap, 44; departure 
from, 45; re-visited, 288 

Taumtara—the Beg’s tea-party, 49 

Ter Art Pass—height, 49 

Tien Shan—56—7, 72, 218; ibex 
in, 226, 228; a sportsman’s 
paradise, 230; ‘My Father 
Blackbeard’s ”’ shrine, 231 

Tigarmansu Jilgha—164, 270, 272 ; 
copper veins in, 272; imaccessi- 
bility, 272 

Toilebulung—46 ; burial-place, 48 

Toqoi Bashi—its “‘ real ”’ trees, 50 

Tragbal Pass—6, 10 ; height of, 11 

Tiimen River—55, 68 

Turki language—8 


Uch Turfan—i21; journey to, 
218, 221; a Chinese frontier 
post, 222; the Hare River val- 
ley and its women, 227 ; Amban 
Ma Darin in command, 264; 
“ Captain Ma,” 265 

Ujad bai—38 

Ulugh Rabat Pass— 42 

Urumchi— 42; seat of Govern- 
ment, 59 


CHINESE CENTRAL ASIA 


Wakhi—8 ; dialect, 30; enclave, 
33; immigrants, 39 
Wular Lake—7 


Yakub Beg Bedaulet—Forsyth 
Mission to, 4; revolt of, 59; 
rapacity of, 60; improvements 
since his time, 125 ; turning out 
the Wangs, 223; his fortress 
and hospital at Aqsu, 234-5 

Yai Dobe plain—z219 

Yambulak valley— 46-7; paint- 
ing the Beg’s daughter, 47, 130 

Yangi Art Jilgha—225; theories 
as to British visitors, 225 

Yangi Davan—lake hitherto un- 
mapped, 46 

Yangi Hissar— 42; arrival at, 51, 
52; Amban’s hat, 52; official 
lunch at Yamen, 53; money- 
lenders, 61; Swedish Church 
Mission, 66; murder trial, 139, 
140-3 

Yang Tseng-hsin—strong Governor 
of Chinese Turkestan, 42 ; a vir- 
tually independent Ruler, 59 

Yapchan—discomfort at, 54; halt 
at, 94; Camp, 270 

Yarkand—4 ; upper river, 32, 49; 
Hindu traders, 61; postal ser- 
vice, 65; Swedish Church Mis- 
sion, 66; Chief of the Beggars, 
76; stay at, 105; cretinism, 
107; race varieties, 108; cold 
at, 120; second visit, I25; an 
ex-Simla waiter, 125; Mission 
orphanage, 126; legend of its 
conversion to Islam, 177 ; Jahan 
Bagh Fair, 183 ; witch-doctors, 
186; Murad Qari, 193; culture 
from Persia and India, 205; 
Camel caravans, 244 

Ytiehchih Indo-Scythians—origin 
of, 18 (and note) 

Yupogha—121 


Zawa—sandstorms and “ potais,”’ 
248 

Zoji La Pass—4 

Zumurrat — ‘‘Cathedral Spires,” 
150 


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